I Eat Poetry

Born with the first light breath of spring,
When fades the rose to die;
To seek on Zephyr's sportive wing,
The clear effulgent sky;

Intoxicate with sweets to make
Thy couch ‘mid opening blooms;
Poised on some fragrant flower, to shake
The light dust from thy plumes:

When fades the last pale rose of eve,
To bid adieu to light;
And satiate with bliss to leave
These scenes for realms more bright

As some pure spirit hither sent,
To whom, blest lot, ‘tis given,
To taste each sweet to earth that's lent,
Then wing its flight to heaven.

'The Butterfly's Lot' by La Martine