It is blue-butterfly day here in spring, And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry There is more unmixed color on the wing Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry. But these are flowers that fly and all but sing: And now from having ridden out desire They lie closed over in the wind and cling Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN SAN MARCO, VENEZIA by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON EPIGRAM: A LAME BEGGAR by JOHN DONNE RED JACKET by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK A LITTLE WHILE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |