TO A BUTTERFLY

Butterfly, O butterfly, With gaily-jewelled wings, You make me think of fairy folk And of enchanted things. You once were held a prisoner In a castle grim and grey— A “chrysalis” folk called it— But you escaped away. And now you flutter ’mong the flowers, A restless roving elf, Or fold your wings and lie so still— A very flower yourself. Or hoisting high two gauzy sails, You softly float away, Just like a tiny fairy barque Bound for a fairy bay. The bees must work, the birds must sing, The flowers yield perfumes rare; But you were born a trifler, Frail thing of light and air!