Feel for this gruesome ghoul.

Poor LYCIUS had excuse. Who might refuse worship to Lamia, "now a lady
bright"?
But foul-fanged here, fierce-eyed, a shape of fear, the serpent stands,
revealed to general sight,
A loathly thing, close knotted ring on ring, of guise unlovely, and
infectious breath;
And yet strong witchery draws to those wide jaws
Whose touch is shameful death.

See how the flattering things on painted wings, foolish as gnat-swarms
near the shrivelling blaze,
Flock nearer, nearer! Forms, too, quainter, queerer, frog-dupes of folly,
rabbit-thralls of craze,
Butterfly triflers, gay-plumed would-be riflers of golden chalices, of
poisoned flowers,
Flitter and flutter in delirium utter,
As drawn by wizard powers.

Oh, "Painted Lady," Summer coverts shady, the greenwood home, the sweep
of sunny fields,
A butterfly befit; but where's the wit that mire-befouled to the
swamp-demon yields?
Oh, birds of Iris-glitter, black and bitter will be the wakening when
those gaudy plumes
Fall crushed and leaden, as your senses deaden
In poisonous Python fumes!

Ye _gobemouche_ creatures of batrachian features, who "go a-wooing" such