Classic Poem

A BUTTERFLY bask'd on a baby's grave
Where a lily had chanced to grow:
" Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye,
When she of the blue and sparkling eye
Must sleep in the churchyard low? "

Then it lightly soar'd through the sunny air,
And spoke from its shining track:
" I was a worm till I won my wings,
And she whom thou mourn'st, like a seraph sings:
Wouldst thou call the bless'd one back? "