To a Butterfly

To a Butterfly

I've watch'd you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless! - not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers:
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)