The Butterflies of May

The Butterflies of May.
166.3

Written for the News Letter by the Marquis de Louville.

Who knows what may be in the butterflies’ wings
When they play in the warm air together,
If they say in a butterfly’s way, loving things
From the Tea to the Hill’s purple heather.

Do they take from the rose to the illy some sign
As they flit like a falry winged flower?
Some words as simple, or pure, or divine,
As their rainbow life of an hour?

Do they holl some secret of soft noon skles
That held echoes of Heavenly voices,
Like the irls of scents that lovingly rise
When the heart of the lily rejoices?

To some they say, “For you there’s a kiss
On the lips of the world that is walking
On every hour with your cup of bliss,
“”Mid the songs of the birds that are mating.”

But to some they say, “How cruel is spring
“When with joy the whole world is waking,
“When ghosts of dead blisses are all they can bring
“To the heart that is hopelessly breaking”.