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A little Cyclops, with one eye
Staring to threaten and defy,
That thought comes next—and instantly
The freak is over,
The shape will vanish, and behold!
A silver Shield with boss of gold,
That spreads itself, some Faery bold
In fight to cover.

I see thee glittering from afar;—
And then thou art a pretty Star,
Not quite so fair as many are
In heaven above thee!
Yet like a star, with glittering crest,
Self-poised in air thou seems't to rest;—
May peace come never to his nest,
Who shall reprove thee!