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Best Famous Butterfly Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Butterfly poems. This is a select list of the best famous Butterfly poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Butterfly poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of butterfly poems.

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by Emily Dickinson |

A little road not made of man

A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.

If town it have, beyond itself,
'T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh,--no vehicle
Bears me along that way.


by Elizabeth Bishop |

Invitation to Miss Marianne Moore

From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals,
please come flying,
to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums
descending out of the mackerel sky
over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water,
please come flying.

Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships
are signaling cordially with multitudes of flags
rising and falling like birds all over the harbor.
Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing
countless little pellucid jellies
in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.
The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged.
The waves are running in verses this fine morning.
Please come flying.

Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe
trailing a sapphire highlight,
with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots,
with heaven knows how many angels all riding
on the broad black brim of your hat,
please come flying.

Bearing a musical inaudible abacus,
a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons,
please come flying.
Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan
is all awash with morals this fine morning,
so please come flying.

Mounting the sky with natural heroism,
above the accidents, above the malignant movies,
the taxicabs and injustices at large,
while horns are resounding in your beautiful ears
that simultaneously listen to
a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer,
please come flying.

For whom the grim museums will behave 
like courteous male bower-birds,
for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait
on the steps of the Public Library,
eager to rise and follow through the doors
up into the reading rooms,
please come flying.
We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,
or play at a game of constantly being wrong
with a priceless set of vocabularies,
or we can bravely deplore, but please
please come flying.

With dynasties of negative constructions
darkening and dying around you,
with grammar that suddenly turns and shines
like flocks of sandpipers flying,
please come flying.

Come like a light in the white mackerel sky,
come like a daytime comet
with a long unnebulous train of words,
from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.


by William Cullen Bryant |

June

I GAZED upon the glorious sky 
And the green mountains round  
And thought that when I came to lie 
At rest within the ground  
'T were pleasant that in flowery June 5 
When brooks send up a cheerful tune  
And groves a joyous sound  
The sexton's hand my grave to make  
The rich green mountain-turf should break. 

A cell within the frozen mould 10 
A coffin borne through sleet  
And icy clods above it rolled  
While fierce the tempests beat¡ª 
Away!¡ªI will not think of these¡ª 
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze 15 
Earth green beneath the feet  
And be the damp mould gently pressed 
Into my narrow place of rest. 

There through the long long summer hours 
The golden light should lie 20 
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers 
Stand in their beauty by. 
The oriole should build and tell 
His love-tale close beside my cell; 
The idle butterfly 25 
Should rest him there and there be heard 
The housewife bee and humming-bird. 

And what if cheerful shouts at noon 
Come from the village sent  
Or song of maids beneath the moon 30 
With fairy laughter blent? 
And what if in the evening light  
Betroth¨¨d lovers walk in sight 
Of my low monument? 
I would the lovely scene around 35 
Might know no sadder sight nor sound. 

I know that I no more should see 
The season's glorious show  
Nor would its brightness shine for me  
Nor its wild music flow; 40 
But if around my place of sleep  
The friends I love should come to weep  
They might not haste to go. 
Soft airs and song and light and bloom 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 45 

These to their softened hearts should bear 
The thought of what has been  
And speak of one who cannot share 
The gladness of the scene; 
Whose part in all the pomp that fills 50 
The circuit of the summer hills  
Is that his grave is green; 
And deeply would their hearts rejoice 
To hear again his living voice. 


by Robert Burns |

451. Epitaph on the same

 HERE lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
 What once was a butterfly, gay in life’s beam:
Want only of wisdom denied her respect,
 Want only of goodness denied her esteem.


by Emily Dickinson |

Nobody knows this little Rose

 Nobody knows this little Rose --
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it --
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey --
On its breast to lie --
Only a Bird will wonder --
Only a Breeze will sigh --
Ah Little Rose -- how easy
For such as thee to die!


by Emily Dickinson |

Cocoon above! Cocoon below!

 Cocoon above! Cocoon below!
Stealthy Cocoon, why hide you so
What all the world suspect?
An hour, and gay on every tree
Your secret, perched in ecstasy
Defies imprisonment!

An hour in Chrysalis to pass,
Then gay above receding grass
A Butterfly to go!
A moment to interrogate,
Then wiser than a "Surrogate,"
The Universe to know!


by Emily Dickinson |

A soft Sea washed around the House

 A soft Sea washed around the House
A Sea of Summer Air
And rose and fell the magic Planks
That sailed without a care --
For Captain was the Butterfly
For Helmsman was the Bee
And an entire universe
For the delighted crew.


by Emily Dickinson |

The Bee is not afraid of me.

 The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially --

The Brooks laugh louder when I come --
The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?


by Emily Dickinson |

One Sister have I in our house

 One Sister have I in our house,
And one, a hedge away.
There's only one recorded,
But both belong to me.

One came the road that I came --
And wore my last year's gown --
The other, as a bird her nest,
Builded our hearts among.

She did not sing as we did --
It was a different tune --
Herself to her a music
As Bumble bee of June.

Today is far from Childhood --
But up and down the hills
I held her hand the tighter --
Which shortened all the miles --

And still her hum
The years among,
Deceives the Butterfly;
Still in her Eye
The Violets lie
Mouldered this many May.

I spilt the dew --
But took the morn --
I chose this single star
From out the wide night's numbers --
Sue - forevermore!


by Emily Dickinson |

Arcturus is his other name

 "Arcturus" is his other name --
I'd rather call him "Star."
It's very mean of Science
To go and interfere!

I slew a worm the other day --
A "Savant" passing by
Murmured "Resurgam" -- "Centipede"!
"Oh Lord -- how frail are we"!

I pull a flower from the woods --
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath --
And has her in a "class"!

Whereas I took the Butterfly
Aforetime in my hat --
He sits erect in "Cabinets" --
The Clover bells forgot.

What once was "Heaven"
Is "Zenith" now --
Where I proposed to go
When Time's brief masquerade was done
Is mapped and charted too.

What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I'm ready for "the worst" --
Whatever prank betides!

Perhaps the "Kingdom of Heaven's" changed --
I hope the "Children" there Won't be "new fashioned" when I come --
And laugh at me -- and stare --

I hope the Father in the skies
Will lift his little girl --
Old fashioned -- naught -- everything --
Over the stile of "Pearl."