Butterfly, O butterfly,
With gaily-jewelled wings,
You make me think of fairy folk
And of enchanted things.
You once were held a prisoner
In a castle grim and grey—
A “chrysalis” folk called it—
But you escaped away.
And now you flutter ’mong the flowers,
A restless roving elf,
Or fold your wings and lie so still—
A very flower yourself.
Or hoisting high two gauzy sails,
You softly float away,
Just like a tiny fairy barque
Bound for a fairy bay.
The bees must work, the birds must sing,
The flowers yield perfumes rare;
But you were born a trifler,
Frail thing of light and air!
WHEN AND WHERE
I wonder “when” and I wonder “where”
The Angel of Death will come,
And, laying a finger on lids and lips,
Will strike me blind and dumb.
I wonder “when” and I wonder “where”!
Like the skeleton at the feast,
’Mid laughter and mirth this thought finds birth
Where it is welcome least.
I wonder “when” and I wonder “where”—
In my prime or old age hoar,
At home, with my loved ones round my bed,
Or alone on an alien shore.
I wonder “when” and I wonder “where!”
Is God not over all?
He knows the time and He knows the place
Who marks a sparrow’s fall.