UPON the woven leaf,
Upon the veined flower,
I find my life portrayed in bief–
My life from hour to hour.
A frail leaf fit to die;
The faithful air of heaven by,
While no wind roughly blew.
All day for my delight,
From dark to dark my own;
One butterfly delaying flight,
That left me not alone.
A humming-bird to float
Upon a breath; a bee
To blow a long complaining note,
Invited were of me.
American author and editor (1843–1909)
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