ay,
That bright little fury went, humming, away,
With gossamer softness, and fair to the eye,
Like some living brilliant, just dropped from the sky.

And since, when that curious bird I behold
Arrayed in rich colors, and dusted with gold,
I cannot but think of the wrath and the spite
She has in reserve, though they're now out of sight.

Ye two-footed, beautiful, passionate things,
If plumy or plumeless--without, or with wings,
Beware, lest ye break, in some hazardous hour,
Your vials of wrath, hot, or bitter, or sour!

And would ye but know how at times ye do seem
Transformed to bright furies, or frights in a dream,
Go, stand at the glass--to the painter go sit,
When anger is just at the height of its fit!

=The Butterfly's Dream=

A tulip, just opened, had offered to hold
A butterfly gaudy and gay;
And rocked in his cradle of crimson and gold,
The careless young slumberer lay.

For the butterfly slept;--as such thoughtless ones will,
At ease, and reclining on flowers;--
If ever they study, 'tis how they may kill
The best of their mid-summer hours!

And the butterfly dreamed, as is often the case
With _indolent_ lovers of change,
Who, keeping the body at ease in its place,
Give fancy permission to range.

He dreamed that he saw, what he could but despise,
The swarm from a neighboring hive;
Which, having come out for their winter supplies,
Had made the whole garden alive.

He looked with disgust, as the proud often do,
On the diligent movements of those,
Who, keeping both present and future in view,
Improve every hour as it goes.

As the brisk little alchymists passed to and fro,
With anger the butterfly swelled;
And called them mechanics--a rabble too low
To come near the station he held.

"Away from my presence!" said he, in his sleep,
"Ye humble plebeians! nor dare
Come here with your colorless winglets to sweep
The king of this brilliant parterre!"

He thought, at these words, that together they flew,
And, facing about, made a stand;
And then, to a terrible army they grew,
And fenced him on every hand.

Like hosts of huge giants, his numberless foes
Seemed spreading to measureless size:
Their wings with a mighty expansion arose,
And stretched like a veil o'er the skies.

Their eyes seemed like little volcanoes, for fire,--
Their hum, to a cannon-peal grown,--
Farina to bullets was rolled in their ire,
And, he thought, hurled at him and his