THE FREED BUTTERFLY

Yes, go, little butterfly,
  Fan the warm air
With your soft silken pinions,
  So brilliant and fair;
A poor, fluttering prisoner
  No longer you'll be;
There! Out of the window!
  You are free—you are free!

Go, rest on the bosom
  Of some favorite flower;
Go, sport in the sunlight
  Your brief little hour;
For your day, at the longest,
  Is scarcely a span:
Then go and enjoy it;
  Be gay while you can.

As for me, I have something
  More useful to do:
I must work, I must learn—
  Though I play sometimes, too.
All your days with the blossoms,
  Bright thing, you may spend;
They will close with the summer,
  Mine never shall end.