BUTTERFLIES
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rail travellers, deftly flickering over the flowers;O living flowers against the heedless blueOf summer days, what sends them dancing throughThis fiery-blossom'd revel of the hours? Theirs are the musing silences betweenThe enraptured crying of shrill birds that makeHeaven in the wood while summer dawns awake;And theirs the faintest winds that hush the green. And they are as my soul that wings its wayOut of the starlit dimness into morn:And they are as my tremulous being--bornTo know but this, the phantom glare of day.
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