Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 7
Chapter 68 of 146 · 1 min read
THE BUTTERFLY'S DAY.
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 was 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 't were 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 its sea.
