High-skirted of rose, her silken world owes
Its priviledge to a sun-bright fate.
Caprice-stepping room
As frictionless the flutter-state.
High life's gadabout, meaner crawl to flout
Looks down upon her feet, and weeps.
There, from ice-made tomb
Her butterfly's mirroring seeps.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem