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=Theophilus H. Hill.[101] 1836-.=
From "The Song of the Butterfly."
=426.=
When the shades of evening fall,
Like the foldings of a pall,—
When the dew is on the flowers,
And the mute, unconscious hours,
Still pursue their noiseless flight
Through the dreamy realms of night,
In the shut or open rose
Ah, how sweetly I repose!
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And Diana's starry train,
Sweetly scintillant again,
Never sleep while I repose
On the petals of the rose.
Sweeter couch hath who than I?
Quoth the brilliant Butterfly.
Life is but a summer day,
Gliding languidly away;
Winter comes, alas! too soon,—
Would it were forever June!
Yet though brief my flight may be,
Fun and frolic still for me!
When the summer leaves and flowers,
Now so beautiful and gay,
In the cold autumnal showers,
Droop and fade, and pine away,
Who would not prefer to die?
What were life to such as I?
Quoth the flaunting Butterfly.
[Footnote 101: Born in North Carolina; in the intervals of his law practice has published a volume of poems.]
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