Butterfly, on golden wings,

Tell us of your wanderings!

Tell us of aerial spaces,

Where, in pleasant sunshine places,

You go sailing high and low,

Wheresoever you would go!

Leisure, freedom, grace, is yours;

Earth and air to you ensures

Findings for your utmost need,

Be it blossom, dewdrop, seed;

And you roam the fields of air,

Happy, and without a care.

When the sudden storm comes down,

And the sun flees at its frown,

You with folded wings will hide

’Neath a leaf, and safely bide

Till the tempest flashes through,

And the sky is blue for you.

Thus on rested wings you sail

In the wake of every gale,

Sailing high, or sailing low,

Wheresoever you would go;

Pilgriming the great, blue sky;

Bravo, little butterfly!

—M. D. Tolman.