1622. The Butterfly by Alice Archer (Sewall) James. Stedman, Edmund Clarence, ed. 1900. An American Anthology, 1787-1900

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

1622. The Butterfly

By Alice Archer (Sewall) James


I AM not what I was yesterday,
God knows my name.
I am made in a smooth and beautiful way,
And full of flame.

The color of corn are my pretty wings,	5
My flower is blue.
I kiss its topmost pearl, it swings
And I swing too.

I dance above the tawny grass
In the sunny air,	10
So tantalized to have to pass
Love everywhere

O Earth, O Sky, you are mine to roam
In liberty.
I am the soul and I have no home,—	15
Take care of me.

For double I drift through a double world
Of spirit and sense;
I and my symbol together whirled
From who knows whence?	20

There ’s a tiny weed, God knows what good,—
It sits in the moss.
Its wings are heavy and spotted with blood
Across and across.

I sometimes settle a moment there,	25
And I am so sweet,
That what it lacks of the glad and fair
I fill complete.

The little white moon was once like me;
But her wings are one.	30
Or perhaps they closëd together be
As she swings in the sun.

When the clovers close their three green wings
Just as I do,
I creep to the primrose heart of things,	35
And close mine, too.

And then wide opens the candid night,
Serene and intense;
For she has, instead of love and light,
God’s confidence.	40

And I watch that other butterfly,
The one-winged moon,
Till, drunk with sweets in which I lie,
I dream and swoon.

And then when I to three days grow,	45
I find out pain.
For swift there comes an ache,—I know
That I am twain.

And nevermore can I be one
In liberty.	50
O Earth, O Sky, your use in done,
Take care of me.