To The Butterfly. Poem by Susan Evance

AH happy insect! free from care
Thou sportest on the flutt'ring breeze;
Wild as the fragrant mountain air,
And playful as the waving trees.

When morning glimmers in the east,
Thou wanderest o'er the dewy ground,
To sip the wild thyme's scatter'd feast,
Whose sweet breath lingers all around.

At noon thou seek'st the thistly mead;
There with companions blythe and gay
Upon the nectar'd flowers to feed,
And sport the sultry hours away.

And when the Sun's last beam is fled
And Evening sheds her pearly tears,
Thou sinkest to thy blossom'd bed,
Slumb'ring, till morn again appears.

Ah happy insect! once like thine
My heedless moments pass'd away;
No lengthen'd sigh of grief was mine,
No tears then chill'd the glowing day.

I wander'd carelessly along
The wild wood-paths, and shady bow'rs;
Gave to the murmuring winds my song,
And gather'd wreaths of simple flow'rs.

Yes, then, gay flutterer! like thee,
I danc'd where sportive Fancy led;
But joy no longer smiles for me,
And Hope's enchanting dreams are fled.

The prospects of life's early spring,
Like glittering sun-beams warm and bright,
Are flown on Sorrow's sable wing,
And lost in shades of endless night.