Poems (Mitford)/To a Yellow Butterfly

by Mary Russell Mitford

to A YELLOW BUTTERFLY. APRIL 8, 1808.

Hail! loveliest insect of the spring!
 Sweet buoyant child of Phœbus, hail!
High soaring on thy downy wing,
 Or sporting in the sunny vale!

Oh! lovely is thy airy form,
 That wears the primrose hue so fair,
It seems as if some passing storm
 Had rais'd the beauteous flow'r in air.

Far diff'rent from the spotted race,
 That sultry June's bright suns unfold;
That seek in her fair flow'rs their place,
 And proud display their wings of gold.

For brilliant is their varying dye,
 And, basking in the fervid ray,
They in the new-blown roses lie,
 Or round the gay carnation play.

But thou, with April's modest flow'r,
 Her violet sweet of snowy hue,
Tranquil shalt pass the noon-tide hour,
 And sip content the ev'ning dew.

Oh! may no frosts thy beauties chill!
 No storms thy little frame destroy!
But, sporting gay beside the rill,
 May'st thou thy transient life enjoy!