ART thou the bird whom Man loves best, The pious bird with the scarlet breast, The bird that comes about our doors Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors? And Russia far inland? The bird that by some name or other1 And see this sight beneath the skies, -If the Butterfly knew but his friend, And find his way to me, Under the branches of the tree: In and out, he darts about; Can this be the bird, to man so good, That after their bewildering, See Paradise Lost, Book XI., when Adam points out to Eve the ominous sign of the Eagle chasing "two Birds of gayest plume," and the gentle Hart and Hind pursued by their enemy. 1815. Covered with leaves the little children,1 So painfully in the wood? What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue A beautiful creature, That is gentle by nature? Beneath the summer sky From flower to flower let him fly; "Tis all that he wishes to do. The cheerer Thou of our in-door sadness, He is the friend of our summer gladness: What hinders, then, that ye should be And fly about in the air together! [Written in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere.] I'VE watch'd you now a full half-hour, Did cover with leaves 3 1807. Like the hues of thy breast, His beautiful wings in crimson are drest, 1807. 1835. If thou would'st be happy in thy nest, 1807. And, little Butterfly! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless !-not frozen seas What joy awaits you, when the breeze This plot of orchard-ground is ours; Here rest your wings when they are weary; Come often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough! We'll talk of sunshine and of song, And summer days, when we were young; As twenty days are now. Many of the flowers in the orchard at Dove Cottage were planted by Dorothy Wordsworth. The "summer days" of childhood are referred to in the previous poem To a Butterfly, written on the 14th of March 1802. See also note to previous poem, The Redbreast Chasing the Butterfly (p. 264).-ED. [Also composed in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere.] THAT is work of waste and ruin- 2 Do as Charles and I are doing! 1 1836. Strawberry-blossoms, one and all I am older, Anne, than you. Pull the primrose, sister Anne! Make your bed, or 1 make your bower; Primroses, the Spring may love them— Violets, a barren kind,2 Withered on the ground must lie; Daisies leave no fruit behind When the pretty flowerets die; God has given a kindlier power and make 1807. 1807. 1807. Hither soon as spring is fled You and Charles and I will walk ;1 Then will hang on every stalk, Each within its leafy bower; And for that promise spare the flower!2 Wednesday, 28th April (1802).-Copied the Prioress's Tale. Wm. was in the orchard. He worked away at his poem, though he was ill, and tired. I happened to say that when I was a child I would not have pulled a strawberry blossom; I left him, and wrote out the Manciple's Tale. At dinner time he came in with the poem of 'Children gathering flowers,' but it was not quite finished, and it kept him long from his dinner. It is now done. He is working at the Tinker." (Dorothy Wordsworth's Diary). At an earlier date in the same year, Jan. 31st, 1802,-the following occurs in the same Diary: "I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. The little slender flower had more courage than the green leaves, for they were but half expanded and half grown, but the blossoms was spread full out. I uprooted it rashly, and I felt as if I had been committing an outrage; so I planted it again. It will have but a stormy life of it, but let it live if it can.”ED. [Written at Town-end, Grasmere. It is remarkable that this flower, coming out so early in the spring as it does, and so bright and beautiful, and in such profusion, should not have been noticed earlier in English verse. What adds much to the interest that attends it is its habit of shutting itself up and opening out according to the degree of light and temperature of the air.] |