SAPPHICS. 105 



II. — The Butterfly. 



Late, as I wandered o'er a verdant meadow, 

 Loathsome and hairy creatures were devouring 

 Every leaf that tempted with its greenness, 



Or by its fragrance. 



Great was their toiling, earnest their contention. 

 Piercing their hunger, savage their dissension. 

 Selfish their striving, hideous their bearing, 



Ugly their figure. 



Next day I wandered to the verdant meadow ; 

 Each worm was spinning for himself a mantle ; 

 It was his grave shroud, and I watched him closely 



Wrap it around him. 



Once more I wandered by the verdant meadow : 

 Each worm was bursting from his long confinement ; 

 Each one was spreading to the sun's bright beaming 



Quivering pinions. 



Hued like a rainbow, sparkling as a dewdrop, 

 Glitt'ring as gold, and lively as a swallow. 

 Each left his grave shroud, and in rapture winged him 



Up to the heavens. 



