To A Butterfly

I've watched you now a half-hour;

Self-poised upon that yellow flower

And, little butterfly! indeed

I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless!and then

More motionless!-not a frozen seas

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 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.