To a Blue Butterfly

You knew the jungles where the heat all day Came quivering up through tangled lace of green; Across old fever-swamps you used to play, Your loveliness unseen.

Your loveliness unseen, except by eyes That could not bear the dazzling gold of noon, Yet watched through shadows, envious, old and wise, Waiting the rising moon.

I think you are the bluest thing e'er made, The sea and sky know many a changing hue, But not your wings;—you died, but did not fade, Oh miracle of blue!

It seems the Lord of Beauty is the Lord Of all the lowliest, as the highest things. Perhaps His Angel of the flaming sword Had just such azure wings!