Joy from that in type we borrow,
Which in life gives only sorrow.
A DRAGON-FLY with beauteous wing
Is hov’ring o’er a silv’ry spring;
I watch its motions with delight,–
Now dark its colours seem, now bright;
Chameleon-like appear, 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