Source: Project Gutenberg #8774 / #8824
Source URL: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8774
Public domain basis: Wordsworth, Poems, in Two Volumes (London: Longman, 1807), PG #8774/#8824. US public domain.
Coverage: Complete individual poem extracted from parent edition poems-in-two-volumes at bytes 106557-108455; checksum 561c0423d209eb898bbd9f1a79293743e16df150ac9835b43390166118876f81.


# To a Butterfly

1. _TO A BUTTERFLY_.


  Stay near me--do not take thy flight!
  A little longer stay in sight!
  Much converse do I find in Thee,
  Historian of my Infancy!
  Float near me; do not yet depart!
  Dead times revive in thee:
  Thou bring'st, gay Creature as thou art!
  A solemn image to my heart,
  My Father's Family!

  Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
  The time, when in our childish plays
  My sister Emmeline and I
  Together chaced the Butterfly!
  A very hunter did I rush
  Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs
  I follow'd on from brake to bush;
  But She, God love her! feared to brush
  The dust from off its wings.



2.


  The Sun has long been set:
  The Stars are out by twos and threes;
  The little Birds are piping yet
  Among the bushes and trees;
  There's a Cuckoo, and one or two thrushes;
  And a noise of wind that rushes,
  With a noise of water that gushes;
  And the Cuckoo's sovereign cry
  Fills all the hollow of the sky!

  Who would go "parading"
  In London, and "masquerading,"
  On such a night of June?
  With that beautiful soft half-moon,
  And all these innocent blisses,
  On such a night as this is!



3.


  O Nightingale! thou surely art
  A Creature of a fiery heart--
  These notes of thine they pierce, and pierce;
  Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
  Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
  Had help'd thee to a Valentine;
  A song in mockery and despite
  Of shades, and dews, and silent Night,
  And steady bliss, and all the Loves
  Now sleeping in these peaceful groves!

  I heard a Stockdove sing or say
  His homely tale, this very day.
  His voice was buried among trees,
  Yet to be come at by the breeze:
  He did not cease; but coo'd--and coo'd;
  And somewhat pensively he woo'd:
  He sang of love with quiet blending,
  Slow to begin, and never ending;
  Of serious faith, and inward glee;
  That was the Song, the Song for me!



4.