Summer Song

My heart’s a yellow butterfly That flutters down the road; A beggar, tricksy, dancing thing That scorns a fixed abode.

The aigrette of the thistle bloom Becomes the swinging sign Of merry hostelries, where I May pause awhile and dine.

The sky is lapis lazuli Bestrewn by clouds of pearl,-- Who would not be a butterfly Instead of just a girl?