  FREE as the wandering pike am I, Many the strings to my amorous bow, More than a little inclined to fly Butterfly lovering, to and fro; Happy wherever the flowers blow, With the dew on the leaf, and the sunshine above, Terribly wrong and unprincipled? No, Not for me is the lover’s sigh; Fools are they to be worrying so! Sipping my fill of the honey I fly Butterfly lovering, to and fro. I skim the cream, and let all else go; Gather my roses, and give a shove Over my shoulder at dutiful woe,— Life is too short to be “dead in love!” So, while the fanciful hours go by, I gayly reap what the simpletons sow. Fresh with their bloom are the fruits I try, Butterfly lovering, to and fro. Then here’s to the lady who wears her beau On and off, like a dainty glove! And here’s to the zephyrs that all-ways blow— Life is too short to be “dead in love!” ENVOYPrince, who cares for the coming snow, Butterfly lovering to and fro? Why should a man be a turtle-dove? Life is too short to be “dead in love!” Gelett Burgess. |
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