Melancholy's Moth

Beautious Death's-head Hawkmoth. They are harmless. (Rooibaadjie?)

NO, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
  Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist
  By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
  Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
    Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
  For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
    And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
(From: 628. Ode on Melancholy, John Keats, on Bartleby)

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