Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/On a Butterfly

On a Butterfly.

Thou coloured winglet, floating in the rayOf June's most gladsome hours, whose gorgeous vestWas woven in the rainbow; little restThou knowest, in the long bright summer day:Sipping the fragrant homed dew, awayThou flyest from flower to flower, and blestWith buoyant thoughts, and spirits full of zest,Through fields of ether lies thy airy way.

Yet wast thou once a reptile in the mireUnsightly: having slumbered in thy cell,Transformed and drunk with thoughts that bliss inspireThou earnest forth:—and I shall break the shellOf dull mortality, and clad in fire,Burst on immortal wings, in fields of light to dwell.