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A fuzzy fellow, without feet
Yet doth exceeding run!
Of velvet, is his Countenance
And his Complexion, dun!
Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!
Sometime, upon a bough
From which he doth descend in plush
Upon the Passer-by!
All this in summer
But when winds alarm the Forest Folk
He taketh Damask Residence
And struts in sewing silk!
Then, finer than a Lady
Emerges in the spring!
A Feather on each shoulder!
You'd scarce recognize him!
By Men, yclept Caterpillar!
By me! But who am I
To tell the pretty secret
Of the Butterfly!
A fuzzy fellow, without feet
Yet doth exceeding run!
Of velvet, is his Countenance
And his Complexion, dun!
Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!
Sometime, upon a bough
From which he doth descend in plush
Upon the Passer-by!
All this in summer
But when winds alarm the Forest Folk
He taketh Damask Residence
And struts in sewing silk!
Then, finer than a Lady
Emerges in the spring!
A Feather on each shoulder!
You'd scarce recognize him!
By Men, yclept Caterpillar!
By me! But who am I
To tell the pretty secret
Of the Butterfly!
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