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!

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!

My mother says I must not pass
Too near that glass;
She is afraid that I will see
A little witch that looks like me,
With a red mouth to whisper low
The very thing I should not know.