Classic Poem

Thou heavenly butterfly
Whose great and tenuous wings
Their gold and rose spread high;
Thou that in ample heaven's sight
Over the Andes' mighty summits flings
In bland and radiant flight!—

From what far garden-place,
O butterfly divine, dost race?—
What heavenly branch or vine
Gives thee sustaining wine?—
Perchance the gardens of the night
Strengthened thy wings of light?—

What gleaming flower shall ease
Thine infinite thirst?
Perchance the golden leas
Where heaven's star-blooms burst?—
Perchance the bright horizons filled
With glorious rays
Where gold-dust of thy wings is spilled
O'er seas and mountain ways?—

Thou heavenly butterfly,
Come on my breast to lie;
From thy transcendant sphere
Seek out our poor world here,
Ere thee in winging turn
To ashes day shall burn!