"Her bright gray form that spread so slimly. 

 Some fan she seemed of pygmy Queen; 

 Her silky cloak that lay so trimly, 



Her wee, wee eyes that lookes so keen. 

 Poor moth! near weeping I lament thee. 



Thy glassy form, thy instant woe; 

 'Twas zeal for 'things too high' that sent thee. 

 From cheery earth io shades below." 



Carlyle. 



