Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Alice Archer (Sewall)James

1622 The Butterfly

I AM not what I was yesterday,

God knows my name.

I am made in a smooth and beautiful way,

And full of flame.

The color of corn are my pretty wings,

My flower is blue.

I kiss its topmost pearl, it swings

And I swing too.

I dance above the tawny grass

In the sunny air,

So tantalized to have to pass

Love everywhere

O Earth, O Sky, you are mine to roam

In liberty.

I am the soul and I have no home,—

Take care of me.

For double I drift through a double world

Of spirit and sense;

I and my symbol together whirled

From who knows whence?

There ’s a tiny weed, God knows what good,—

It sits in the moss.

Its wings are heavy and spotted with blood

Across and across.

I sometimes settle a moment there,

And I am so sweet,

That what it lacks of the glad and fair

I fill complete.

The little white moon was once like me;

But her wings are one.

Or perhaps they closëd together be

As she swings in the sun.

When the clovers close their three green wings

Just as I do,

I creep to the primrose heart of things,

And close mine, too.

And then wide opens the candid night,

Serene and intense;

For she has, instead of love and light,

God’s confidence.

And I watch that other butterfly,

The one-winged moon,

Till, drunk with sweets in which I lie,

I dream and swoon.

And then when I to three days grow,

I find out pain.

For swift there comes an ache,—I know

That I am twain.

And nevermore can I be one

In liberty.

O Earth, O Sky, your use in done,

Take care of me.