il Insects, that only may 
Live in a sunbright ray, 
To my whiteness, to my whiteness 
Shall be drawn, as to a brightness. 
“ And every moth and bee 
Shall near me reverently, 
Wheeling round me, wheeling o’er me 
Coronals of motioned glory. 
“ I ween the very skies 
Will look down in surprise, 
When low on earth they see me, 
With my cloudy aspect dreamy. 
“ E’en nightingales shall flee 
Their woods for love of me, 
Singing sadly all the suntide, 
Never waiting for the moontide! 
“ Three larks shall leave a cloud 
To my whiter beauty vow’d, 
Singing gladly all the moontide, 
Never waiting for the suntide.” 
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