 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
ONE BUTTERFLY.
A purple stretch of mountains,
And, them and me between,
A bed of sweet, red clover,
Billows of meadowy green.
Across the wind-swept pastures
One snow-white butterfly
Sails toward the grand horizon,
Sole voyager of the sky.
And, them and me between,
A bed of sweet, red clover,
Billows of meadowy green.
Across the wind-swept pastures
One snow-white butterfly
Sails toward the grand horizon,
Sole voyager of the sky.
The delicate cloud-shadows
Win from the mountain sides
Glimpses of shy, strange color,
That common sunshine hides
Who reads that revelation?
We only, thou and I,
In all this noon-lit silence,
My white-winged butterfly!
Win from the mountain sides
240
That common sunshine hides
Who reads that revelation?
We only, thou and I,
In all this noon-lit silence,
My white-winged butterfly!
Is it a waste of beauty,
That only we behold
Those emerald hues ethereal,
Wavering through pearl and gold?
My heart aches with the wonder
Of all the unrolling sky,
The new, immense horizons,
My lonely butterfly!
That only we behold
Those emerald hues ethereal,
Wavering through pearl and gold?
My heart aches with the wonder
Of all the unrolling sky,
The new, immense horizons,
My lonely butterfly!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |