Stray leaves from the portfolios of Alisander the seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle

STRAY LEAVES.
91
Let me see them—and when my inspection is done,
Away, on thy gossamer wing.
Fear me not, butterfly; I will not seize
Thee, poor little frolicsome thing;
Thou art liberty’s heir—thou art child of the breeze.
Go—roam to what blossom, what bower you please.
Away, on thy gossamer wing.
Yes, fly to the rose—it is breathing perfume;
Away, little wandering thing.
Every sunbeam is stealing a tint from its bloom;
Go—wait not till day-light has faded to gloom.
For time is, like thee, on the wing.
Not gone yet, fair butterfly ? why then so still ?
Art weary ? thou frail little thing!
Ah, hasten—nor wait, silly insect, until
Thou art marked by some bird for his ravenous bill;
Away, on thy gossamer wing.
I have noted each freckle and shade of thy coat,
Ev’ry spot on thy beautiful wing ;
And I hear from yon ivy a twittering note;
Go—hide in the cup of some blossom remote;
Adieu, little fluttering thing.
How gaily you ramble across the blue sky,
Expanding a delicate wing ;
I mark your vagaries—and think, with a sigh,
’Tis a pity how soon, very soon, you must die,
Poor innocent, perishing thing.