Skip to content
1770–1850

1. TO A BUTTERFLY.

William Wordsworth

Stay near me — do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find in Thee, Historian of my Infancy!

Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring'st, gay Creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart,

My Father's Family! Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when in our childish plays My sister Emmeline and I

Together chaced the Butterfly! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey:— with leaps and springs I follow'd on from brake to bush;

But She, God love her! feared to brush The dust from off its wings. The Sun has long been set: The Stars are out by twos and threes;

The little Birds are piping yet Among the bushes and trees; There's a Cuckoo, and one or two thrushes; And a noise of wind that rushes,

With a noise of water that gushes; And the Cuckoo's sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky! Who would go “parading”

In London, and “masquerading,” On such a night of June? With that beautiful soft half-moon, And all these innocent blisses,

On such a night as this is! O Nightingale! thou surely art A Creature of a fiery heart — These notes of thine they pierce, and pierce;

Tumultuous harmony and fierce! Thou sing'st as if the God of wine Had help'd thee to a Valentine; A song in mockery and despite

Of shades, and dews, and silent Night, And steady bliss, and all the Loves Now sleeping in these peaceful groves! I heard a Stockdove sing or say

His homely tale, this very day. His voice was buried among trees, Yet to be come at by the breeze: He did not cease; but coo'd — and coo'd;

And somewhat pensively he woo'd: He sang of love with quiet blending, Slow to begin, and never ending; Of serious faith, and inward glee;

That was the Song, the Song for me! My heart leaps up when I behold A Rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began;

So is it now I am a Man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is Father of the Man;

And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

Cookies on Poetry Cove

We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.
1. TO A BUTTERFLY. · William Wordsworth · Poetry Cove