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The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers,
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
TO THE BUTTERFLY.
Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, Mingling with her thou lov'st in fields of light; And, where the flowers of Paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold. There shall thy wings, rich as an evening-sky, Expand and shut with silent ecstasy!
Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept. And such is man; soon from his cell of clay To burst a seraph in the blaze of day!