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I'd be a Butterfly born in a bower,
Where roses and lilies and violets meet;
Roving for ever from flower to flower,
And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet!
I'd never languish for wealth, or for power,
I'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet:
I'd be a Butterfly born in a bower,
Kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet.
O could I pilfer the wand of a fairy,
I'd have a pair of those beautiful wings;
Their summer days' ramble is sportive and airy,
They sleep in a rose when the nightingale sings.
Those who have wealth must be watchful and wary;
Power, alas! naught but misery brings!
I'd be a Butterfly, sportive and airy,
Rocked in a rose when the nightingale sings!
What, though you tell me each gay little rover
Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day:
Surely 'tis better when summer is over
To die when all fair things are fading away.
Some in life's winter may toil to discover
Means of procuring a weary delay -
I'd be a butterfly; living, a rover,
Dying when fair things are fading away!
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2 comments:
Som en sommerfugl lever vi livet og nyder sommerens varme i fulde drag fra blomsterne springe ud i foråret til sommeren synger på sidste vers, og som en sommerfugl dør vi langsomt indefra når vinteren nærmere sig, når alt falmer og de engang så smukke farver bliver til dystre mørke toner, og som en sommerfugl dør vi med den første frost.
Dø med det smukke, som en sommerfugl, ja, i stedet for at kæmpe for en lille udsættelse i livets kolde og mørke vinter. :-)
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