A dragon-fly with beauteous wing
Is hovering o'er a silvery spring;
I watch its motions with delight,—
Now dark its colours seem, now bright,
Chameleon-like appears now blue,
Now red, and now of greenish hue.
Would it would come still nearer me,
That I its tints might better see!
​It hovers, flutters, resting ne'er!
⁠But hush! it settles on the mead.
I have it safe now, I declare!
⁠⁠And when its form I closely view,
⁠⁠'Tis of a sad and dingy blue—
⁠Such, Joy-Dissector, is thy case, indeed!