A butterfly hovered over a flower,

With the joy of life at his lips for an hour.

With the rose's petals against his wings,

And the rose's perfume that steals and clings

Touching every breath with a wondrous power.

Then the Night came on, and the wind blew cold

The butterfly shivered, grown tired and old;

The rose closed her passionate eyes and slept,

While death to her lover in silence crept;

He died of a joy untold.