1 84 The Poets and Nature. 



' ' And that thing was made of sound and show 

 Which mortals have misnamed a beau, 

 But in the language of the sky 

 Is called a two-legged butterfly." 



Or this 



1 ' But for those butterflies the beaux 

 Who buzz around in tinsel rows, 

 Shake, shake them off with quick disdain. 

 Where insects settle they will stain." 



I cannot understand how "poets" can even fancy so dis- 

 agreeably, so sordidly, of these pretty harmless things with 

 their happy ways so happy, indeed, that they need no voice 

 to tell us how glad they are of life, and how good they find 

 the sunshine, and how fair the flowers. I think a better 

 moral might easily be drawn from the flirtation of a butterfly 

 and a daisy than this 



" The dandy butterfly 



All exquisitely dressed 

 Before the daisy's eye, 



Displays his painted vest, 

 In vain is he arrayed 



In all the gaudy show ; 

 What business hath a maid 



With such a foppish beau ? " 



I confess that, for myself, I am a trifle bored with the " inno- 

 cence " of the daisy, and half wish some poet would get up 

 and call it names. And I am quite sure butterflies do not 

 go and show off before them, or even look as if they did. 

 Nobody ever saw a butterfly on a daisy. 



A worthless woman has this, again, for her epitaph 



" 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." 



Poor Psyche ! Who does not know the exquisite legend of 

 Love and Psyche ? 



