He loitered on from flower to flower With easy, undulating swing; A guileless cheat of childhood's hour, Without a care, without a sting. Bloom after bloom he touched and passed Lightly as fairy waves his wand; Though hat in hand I followed fast, He idly floated just beyond. His life perchance was sweet as mine, His work as useful in its sphere, His brilliancy a gift divine, To Nature's heart his presence dear. At last I crushed him in my grasp And spilled the splendor from his wing, Unconscious of his pleading gasp,— The dying, desolated thing. But morning's trickish glamour gone, And evening's pensive languor nigh, The tasks of eve and morn undone, I still pursue the butterfly; Some luring and elusive bliss, Some flickering wisp whose grasp were vain; If Heaven but deign to grant me this What matters lesser creatures' pain? O dullard! slow to understand That happiness is vainly chased, But clutched by selfish, ruthless hand, The primal impress is effaced. Then give me back the childhood scene,— The land of bloom, the sea of sky, And, wandering o'er his wide demesne, The tireless, tameless butterfly. There would I leave him all his own, Lord of the realm that loves him best, And I secure would hold my throne, The monarch of a peaceful breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIRDS DO THUS by ROBERT FROST A PORTRAIT OF MY ROOF by JAMES GALVIN TO MAY HOWARD JACKSON - SCULPTOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CELSUS AT HADRIAN'S VILLA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BUCOLIC COMEDY: KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID by EDITH SITWELL |