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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=575923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dead Butterfly</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=575923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Farewell, poor little winged flower,<br>Thy joyous life is o'er;<br>Thy sisters of the meadow now<br>Shall welcome thee no more;<br>Those pinions that in liquid air<br>Like sunbeams shone afar,<br>Now bruised, and dim, and motionless,<br>As leaves in autumn are.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=575923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Hark! summer sends her voice of love<br>Through all the gladsome earth,<br>And bird and insect echo her<br>In many a song of mirth;<br>But thou wilt never hear again<br>The zephyr's balmy sighs,<br>Nor kiss away the crystal tears<br>From drooping violet's eyes.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=575923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Oh! when o'er valley, hill, and grove,<br>The moonbeams glisten bright,<br>And all the fairy train come forth,<br>To dance away the night,<br>Mayst thou, poor little butterfly,<br>Among that elfin band,<br>Sport in the ever-blooming bowers<br>Of far-off fairy-land.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Peter+John+Allan">Peter John Allan</a></strong></div>

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