Morning Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

The butterfly with gorgeous hue,
Flits noiseless through the summer air;
He sips the honey from the dew,
And from the wild flowers fair.

Thus day by day, he soars abroad,
O'er wood-land, hill and dale;
And e'er his restless flight affords,
Sweet blossoms to regale.

From east to west, from north to south,
He takes his aerial flight;
Ne'er 'till the summer sun is set,
He shelters for the night.

And at the rising of the sun,
When birds begin to sing,
He sallies from his hiding place,
To dry his moisted wings.

He soars abroad, his wings now dry,
His beauty still remains;
Now slow, and now with speed he flies;
His days are all the same.

I'd envy him of hue and flight,
But seeing his abode,
I learned that life in public sight,
Is not what private showed.

And when declining days did come,
He lost his tint of hue;
And trembling in his humble home,
Did perish in the dew.