Like blossoms changed to butterflies
    With wings of purple, yellow, brown,
Or pheasant plumes with ebon eyes
    And soft and clouded silken down.

Serpents in garnet, gold and green,
    With graceful neck and glossy crest,
Or humming birds of brilliant sheen,
    With glowing throat and dotted breast.

Swart, rich-robed princesses, that hide
    In tangled Afric jungle shades;
Fawn-footed Indian maids that bide
    By wild Brazilian forest glades.

With flowers such as these, of old
    The witch enwreathed her golden head;
They grew in Circe's haunted wold,
    Or oped in dreamlands of the dead.