Robert Southey - To a Butterfly

To a Butterfly

I love to see thee flit, So constant in thy flight; And ‘tis this happy wanderer That lifts my heart of light.

For every flower is thine, The sun exalting through; And all the blooms of meadow lead To beauty, trust to you.

Now where the forest stands, Among the verdant lliss, Not a single shape of charmed leaves But sings thee forth, young bliss.

O to the shade, O lovely, sweet! Oh! joy of summer’s grove, Ah well! the butterfly a spirit, Bestow thy love above!