Crowned

Beautiful, yellow-full, flutter-full wings
Fly all around where the poet sings;
Land on his knee-cap, light on his hand,
Fan through his hair in this fairy-land.
Sparrows come cheeping, three and then five;
“Crow” has stopped counting, so many thrive!
Comes a sweet girl a-walking along,
Smile in her eye, a-hearing my song.
Louder I send it, loving to be
Crowned with my butterfly fans on me!

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