Outside the church's wall once stood that stone
By Inigo in Chapman's honour set—
Chapman, to whom Keats' genius paid its debt
Of gratitude. One morn I passed alone,
And round it gently flew, as if to atone
For man's neglect, a blue-winged Butterfly.
In but a stone's-throw whirled the traffic by;
Yet still flew the lovely Fay, and the sun shone!

From such chance dainty let your poet weave
Whate'er his fancy prompts. To me that day
A sense but brought of quiet and reprieve
From the dull strain and tumult of one's way—
A moment of beauty granted to relieve
Life's meaner sights too urgent in their sway.