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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536379" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Butterflies</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536379" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O child of Joy! What idle life is thine!<br>Thou, in these meadows, while thy skies are blue,<br>And while thy joys are new to thee like wine,<br>Chasest mad butterflies as children do.<br>And lo, thou turnest from them to repine,<br>Because it was not love thou didst pursue.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536379" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O child of Hope! Thou sighest thy sad sighs,<br>Mourning for that which is not nor can be.<br>Where is the noon can match with thy sunrise?<br>Whose is the heart shall win thy constancy?<br>Thou, with thy foolish loves, mad butterflies,<br>What dost thou ask of my sad heart and me?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536379" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O child of Love, begotten for man's bliss!<br>O child of Pleasure, nursed for thy own pain!<br>Needs must I weep the day of thy distress,<br>The fate that brushes at thy arm in vain,<br>Thy skies of blue, thy broken happiness,<br>The hopes thou chasest never to attain.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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