On a Butterfly.
Thou coloured winglet, floating in the ray
Of June's most gladsome hours, whose gorgeous vest
Was woven in the rainbow; little rest
Thou knowest, in the long bright summer day:
Sipping the fragrant homed dew, away
Thou flyest from flower to flower, and blest
With buoyant thoughts, and spirits full of zest,
Through fields of ether lies thy airy way.
Yet wast thou once a reptile in the mire
Unsightly: having slumbered in thy cell,
Transformed and drunk with thoughts that bliss inspire
Thou earnest forth:—and I shall break the shell
Of dull mortality, and clad in fire,
Burst on immortal wings, in fields of light to dwell.