To a Butterfly

William Wordsworth

1770 to 1850

Poem Image
Track 1

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Hath found you out among the trees,
I know not if you sleep, or feed.
Stop here whenever you are weary,
Sit near us on the bough!
And calls you forth again!
More motionless! and then
As twenty days are now!
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Self-pois'd upon that yellow flower;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
How motionless! not frozen seas
We'll talk of sunshine and of song;
And rest as in a sanctuary!
This plot of Orchard-ground is ours;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I've watch'd you now a full half hour,
And summer days, when we were young,
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
What joy awaits you, when the breeze

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