MY cocoon tightens, colors tease,
I 'm feeling for the air;
A dim capacity for wings
Degrades the dress I wear.
 
A power of butterfly must be
The aptitude to fly,
Meadows of majesty concedes
And easy sweeps of sky.
 
So I must baffle at the hint
And cipher at the sign,
And make much blunder, if at last
I take the clew divine.

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