THE REDBREAST AND THE BUTTERFLY. ART thou the bird whom man loves best, The bird that comes about our doors And Russia far inland? The bird whom by some name or other If the butterfly knew but his friend, Under the branches of the tree, In and out, he darts about; Can this be the bird, to man so good, That, after their bewildering, Did cover with leaves the little children, What ail'd thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue A beautiful creature, THE REDBREAST AND THE BUTTERFLY. That is gentle by nature? Beneath the summer sky From flower to flower let him fly; The cheerer thou of our indoor sadness, TO THE DAISY. WITH little here to do or see Thou unassuming common-place Oft do I sit by thee at ease, And weave a web of similes, And many a fond and idle name A nun demure, of lowly port; Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies drest ; A starveling in a scanty vest; Are all, as seem to suit thee best, A little Cyclops, with one eye The shape will vanish, and behold! I see thee glittering from afar :- In heaven above thee ! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Sweet flower! for by that name at last, I call thee, and to that cleave fast, That breath'st with me in sun and air, My heart with gladness, and a share TO THE SAME FLOWER. BRIGHT flower, whose home is everywhere! A pilgrim bold in nature's care, And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see And wherefore? Man is soon deprest ; A thoughtless thing! who, once unblest, Or on his reason, And thou would'st teach him how to find A hope for times that are unkind, And every season Thou wanderest the wide world about, Meek, yielding to the occasion's call, Thy function apostolical In peace fulfilling. |