Who painted thy wings for a vision, a pageant of summer,
Butterfly gay?
Who made thee, thou hovering silence for ever at play?
The bee, that dainty hummer,
Sings at his trade, his task, in the blossoms of May.
Sober in yellow and black, a labourer surly,
His song is earnest to mind us of winter’s dark day,
Never a moment to lose, but late and early
Honey to make, live sweetness, is all his care.
But thou that effortless floatest on Zephyr’s commotion,
Butterfly fair,
Who made thee to paint our eyes with the music of
motion,
Idle, disdainfully gorgeous, a pageant of air?
He who the labouring bee made social and busy,
Butterfly bright!
Made thee a show and a picture in toil’s despite.
Thou of the wing’s back dizzy
Lovely dancer, makest thy scorn and delight,
From flower to shaken flower thou quivering feedest,
With warmth art drunken, with sunshine, this glory of
light.
Thou of dark days no forethought takest, nought
heedest,
Save for honey to rock the jonquil, the harebell tease,
Who made thee in sorrow’s derision a pulse-beat of
pleasure,
Flower of the breeze?
To flaunt thy beauty and float, all pastime, all leisure,
As joy, thought, life were eternal and could not cease.
Ah, he works for the hive, a murmuring nation
The grave honey-bee,
Earnest, absorbed and tasked and sombre is he.
The straight line without elation,
Humming he goes from wallflower to peony ;
Honey he makes for others, his life is duty.
But thou, what secret of joy that buoyancy free
Gave, that reckless disdain of all but beauty ?
Only thy mate in the blossoms to chase and to kiss !
Ah, it is love, it is love, that gives thee thy valiance
Of fluttering bliss,
Ever to ride the sunshine triumphant in dalliance,
Sorrow and death and winter forever to miss.
He who made so solemn the sky and the mountains,
All things that stand
Founded and fixed everlasting, unspeakably grand,
He who the fields, fresh fountains
Framed, and the haughty expanses of sea and land,
He who the pensive night made, mystical, balmy,
Steal down over earth and the silence spanned,
Made in heaven the stars his inscrutable army
Shining, the ancient stars, our ignorance wall,
He painted thy wings for a signboard, a festival vision,
Butterfly small,
To win and banquet our eyes in sorrow’s derision,
Showed in thy joy his secret, the key to it all.
In joy, in joy he works ; and we, his creatures,–
Bee, butterfly, man,
Share his brooding bliss in varying span;
All we, but features
Of the prime Love divine, blazon his plan.
Not without joy he gathers, the luscious recruiter,
Honey ambrosial, yellow, ‘gainst winter’s ban:
Not without love is he though sexless, a neuter,
Nectar to hoard for others, the bee-hive’s slave.
Such deep strength of duty, affection sober,
Honey-bee brave,
Prescient of falling leaves and rainy October,
Spark of his own world-love to these he gave.
I, like the toiling bee, I too, a poet,
From flower to flower,
Gather delicious honey, my thought’s rich dower,
For time to show it;
Hive in the hearts of men ‘gainst winter’s power;
To feed the world’s deep thought I ply my earnest
Social labour. But, oh, like thee to tower
Up on the blast unanxious, thou fire that burnest
In love and gaiety up all dread of cold!
Love and the moment are thine. Thou lover immortal,
Butterfly bold!
Hast learnt to dream away through the ice-king’s portal,
Hoarfrost and sleet and snow, in a brown shell rolled.
Fearless a worm thou cam’st from the primal rapture,
When Chaos, Night,
Were not, for God had spoken
” Let there be light.”
Thou, but a worm, did’st capture
Then thy knowledge mysterious and sovereign delight;
Winter and night thou knewest to be for a season,
Night but anchors for thee thy argosy bright,
Moors thee till morn shall come. And winter hath
reason;
Gives thee a brooding-time in thy gold brown lair.
There those tvonderful sails in a dream thou weavest,
Ship of the air,
Provident thou of joy, such lightness thievest
To float upon breeze and distance, disdainful of care.
Never a fear thou knowest. Thy sister vessel,
Gallant and fine,
Is she not with thee? I weep, “Had I but mine!”
My sighs to wrestle,
Frigate of joy and beauty that mockest tear-shine,
Thou in a lovely swerve by me dost hover,
Angel of His compassion, His ship of the line,
And thy far-winged hail dost fling me: “Lover,
Weep not ! She sucks the honey of endless joy
On God’s side of the sunshine, where life is laughter,
Thy heart upbuoy !
She sips in the rose of glory. Come, follow after;
May, June, are there eternal and never can cloy.”
(Manmohan Ghose)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, God Poems, Life Poems, World Poems, Night Poems, Light Poems, Mind Poems, Sadness Poems, Time Poems, Joy & Excitement PoemsBased on Keywords: argosy, knewest, hummer, effortless, buoyancy, unspeakably, hoarfrost, bee-hive, wallflower, disdainfully, signboard