Classic Poem

Leucophaea, Ashen-gray!
So the Learned, Pretty One,
Name you: sleeping in the sun
This short February day,

Nestled closely to your oak,
Hardly from itself discerned;
Gentle Flutterer, all but turned
In your dun-barred quaker cloak.

To semblance of the aged tree,
That its hoary mottled side
Lends you, safely to abide
Till day dies, and dusk shall be:

Sweet Spring Usher, named aright
In our homely English phrase,
You, who brave these wintry days,
Harbinger of Spring's delight:

Comes the evening, and you flit
Gently round the barren boughs,
Seeking where to hear your vows
She, your destined Mate, may sit.

Just an Insect, nothing more!
Born to-day, to-morrow dead!
Is it all that may be said,
Watching how you pause or soar?

You and I, my Little One,
You and I alert with life:
Whence and whither? Nature rife
With energy, as seasons run,

Brings to birth or you or me,
Each a riddle none may read:
Hath She some mysterious need
You and I awhile should be?

Atoms both, what can we count
In her universal plan,
You a Moth, or I a Man,
As aeons upon aeons mount?

Ah! as you, if I could bring
Hope to some, that there shall rise
Days serener, bluer skies,
Promise of approaching Spring!