From a Butterfly to Aspasia

Born in Aspasia’s fost’ring land
 My finish’d form I first display’d
And felt my plumy wings expand
 While gazing on the beauteous maid.

No sunshine glow’d upon the scene
 With gentle warmth those wings to dry:
Yet fair each painted pinion grew
 Beneath the lustre of her eye.

No zephyr rose with gentle gale
 To fill my infant frame with air;
But fann’d by fair Aspasia’s breath,
 The zephyr’s gale I well might spare.

No rose or lily near me grea
 In which my downy limbs might rest;
But these in brighter tints I found
 On the fair virgin’s face & breast.

Thus Nature with indulgent care
 Propitious grac’d my natal hour;
And with superior sweetness gave
 The gale, the sunshine, and the Flow’r!