I�ve watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly ! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless ! - not frozen seas
More motionless ! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again !
The pilot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister�s flowers
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary !
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough !
We�ll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days that were as long
As twenty days are now.
(William Wordsworth)
