![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWuUyohsnLadVcIbp1V8vu1X12EvqIjk3LYtqYQVTEPXhxH2S6ciWicIlFDrn8kDbRxhn1DTzMxEIHMHQ866HsEa0GsI7yf_L7lhZ0Mxe3aqZy-l9z3HXXcvjuGbYGGnjvEwTAnC3iOI/s400/borboletas_bailando_no_ar.jpg)
For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair.
I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days — three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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