174 LAST AND LEAST OF THINGS 



With not a drop of blood to stain 

 The current of thy purer vein ; 

 So blest an age is passed by thee, 

 Thou seemest a little deity ! 



ANACREON. 

 (MOORE'S translation.) 



TO A BUTTERFLY 



I'VE watched you now a full 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 



Hath found you out 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 days are now. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 



