To a Butterfly. Translated from the French

Summary

Born with the balmy breath of Spring,

With fragrant roses dying,

With Zephyr's light and sportive wing

In playful motion vying.

Bright as the pure and cloudless blue

Of heaven above,—or blossom

That opes its chalice, as to woo

Thy beauty to its bosom.

Intoxicated with perfume,

With light and azure glowing;

From wings surcharg’d with youthful bloom

Thy feathery glory throwing.

Then borne away, like thought or breath,

To viewless, endless distance,

How lovely in thy life and death

Appears thy brief existence!

A gentle wish, a soft desire,

To fancy, it resembles,

Which, ardent, restless, would aspire

To bliss—at which it trembles:—

But still, unsatisfied below,

Just glances o’er each treasure,

Then soars whence brighter splendours flow,

To seek for purer pleasure.