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From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere— Without Design—that I could trace Except to stray abroad On Miscellaneous Enterprise The Clovers—understood— Her pretty Parasol be seen Contracting in a Field Where Men made Hay— Then struggling hard With an opposing Cloud— Where Parties—Phantom as Herself— To Nowhere—seemed to go In purposeless Circumference— As 'twere a Tropic Show— And notwithstanding Bee—that worked— And Flower—that zealous blew— This Audience of Idleness Disdained them, from the Sky— Till Sundown crept—a steady Tide— And Men that made the Hay— And Afternoon—and Butterfly— Extinguished—in the Sea— |