All the glories of the sunset, In the sunrise one may see; That which others call the dawning Is the night for you and me. - Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt

This was your butterfly, you see— His fine wings made him vain:
The caterpillars crawl, but he Passed them in rich disdain.—
My pretty boy says, “Let him be Only a worm again!

If this be all, for which I've listened long,
Oh, spirit of the dew!
You did not sing to Shelley such a song
As Shelley sung to you.

There stretch'd a sleeping army. One by one,
They took their places until thousands met;
No leader's stars flash'd on before, and none
Lean'd on his sword or stagger'd with his gun --
I wonder if their feet have rested yet!