Classic Poem

Escaped thy place of wintry rest,
And in the brightest colours drest,
Thy new-born wings prepared for flight,
Ah! do not, Butterfly, in vain
Thus flutter on the crystal pane,
But go! and soar to life and light.

High on the buoyant Summer gale
Thro' cloudless ether thou may'st sail,
Or rest among the fairest flowers;
To meet thy winnowing friends may'st speed,
Or at thy choice luxurious feed
In woodlands wild, or garden bowers.

Beneath some leaf of ample shade
Thy pearly eggs shall then be laid,
Small rudiments of many a fly;
While thou, thy frail existence past,
Shall shudder in the chilly blast,
And fold thy painted wings and die!

Soon fleets thy transient life away;
Yet short as is thy vital day,
Like flowers that form thy fragrant food;
Thou, poor Ephemeron, shalt have fill'd
The little space thy Maker willed,
And all thou know'st of life be good.