The Genesis of the Butterfly

 The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers 
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers 
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings 
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings, 
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide, 
With muffled music, murmured far and wide. 
Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays 
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays, 
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound, 
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound, 
The messages of love that mortals write 
Filled with intoxication of delight, 
Written in April and before the May time 
Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime, 
We dream that all white butterflies above, 
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love, 
And leave their lady mistress in despair, 
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair, 
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies 
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies

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