She flies from my shadow, To her lover, the Sun; Yet for her rare beauty, I still follow on. Her wings tipped with silver, Jet-black, and of gold, She flies to her lover, From a shadow that's cold. Stay, Butterfly, stay, My Love's full of laughter: Why fly from a shadow? She still follows after! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE BLACK BOY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 35 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 23 by ALFRED TENNYSON PARTY CARD NO. 224332 by ALEXANDR ILYICH BEZYMENSKY |