To a butterfly

I have watched you now full a half-hour,

Self-poised upon that yellow flower,

And little butterfly! Indeed.

I know not if you sleep or feed,

How motionless! - not frozen seas

More motionless!  - and then,

What joy awaits you when the breeze

Have found you among the trees,

And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;

My trees they are; my sister's flowers;

Here rest your wings when they are weary;

Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong;

Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song,

And summer days when we were young;

Sweet childish days, that were as long

As twenty's are now.