Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle Edited by Alexander Rodger |
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TO A BUTTERFLY.
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 | Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle |  |
TO A BUTTERFLY.
BY THE LATE BARON SMITH, OF THE IRISH EXCHEQUER.
Fear me not, butterfly; harm will I none
No—poor little fluttering thing;
Let me see but those colours that glance in the sun:
Let me see them—and when my inspection is done,
Away, on thy gossamer wing.
No—poor little fluttering thing;
Let me see but those colours that glance in the sun:
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Away, on thy gossamer wing.
Fear me not, butterfly; I will not seize
Thee, poor little frolicsome thing;
Thou art liberty's heir—thou art child of the breeze,
Go—roam to what blossom, what bower you please,
Away, on thy gossamer wing.
Thee, poor little frolicsome thing;
Thou art liberty's heir—thou art child of the breeze,
Go—roam to what blossom, what bower you please,
Away, on thy gossamer wing.
Yes, fly to the rose—it is breathing perfume;
Away, little wandering thing.
Every sunbeam is stealing a tint from its bloom;
Go—wait not till day-light has faded to gloom,
For time is, like thee, on the wing.
Away, little wandering thing.
Every sunbeam is stealing a tint from its bloom;
Go—wait not till day-light has faded to gloom,
For time is, like thee, on the wing.
Not gone yet, fair butterfly? why then so still?
Art weary? thou frail little thing!
Ah, hasten—nor wait, silly insect, until
Thou art marked by some bird for his ravenous bill;
Away, on thy gossamer wing.
Art weary? thou frail little thing!
Ah, hasten—nor wait, silly insect, until
Thou art marked by some bird for his ravenous bill;
Away, on thy gossamer wing.
I have noted each freckle and shade of thy coat,
Ev'ry spot on thy beautiful wing;
And I hear from yon ivy a twittering note;
Go—hide in the cup of some blossom remote;
Adieu, little fluttering thing.
Ev'ry spot on thy beautiful wing;
And I hear from yon ivy a twittering note;
Go—hide in the cup of some blossom remote;
Adieu, little fluttering thing.
How gaily you ramble across the blue sky,
Expanding a delicate wing;
I mark your vagaries—and think, with a sigh,
'Tis a pity how soon, very soon, you must die,
Poor innocent, perishing thing.
Expanding a delicate wing;
I mark your vagaries—and think, with a sigh,
'Tis a pity how soon, very soon, you must die,
Poor innocent, perishing thing.
| Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle | |