Quotes from Edwin Markham, "The Butterfly"

O wingèd brother on the harebell, stay— Was God's hand very pitiful, the hand That wrought thy beauty at a dream's demand? Yea, knowing I love so well the flowery way, He did not fling me to the world astray— He did not drop me to the weary sand, But bore me gently to a leafy land: Tinting my wings, He gave me to the day.