Sweet butterfly, please guide her back to me,
That one with flowers on her lovely hair,
In gardens, lush, more blooms you might yet see,
But mark that there, no one is half as fair;
She bask there with the lilies white as milk,
Like snow which missed the rhythm of the year,
Or lodged with orchids, petals soft as silk,
With daisies, too, such heads so large to bear;
Her scent proceeds, from garlands on her neck,
As in my ears, her voice rings like a song,
Of this whole world, she would be but a speck,
And be so lost, but would not be for long;
.....Spread out your wings, and take off from your perch,
.....To gardens now, you must commence your search.
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