A TREASURY OF STORIES, JINGLES AND RHYMES.

LITT BULLERFCIES.

HAT are you following, wistful eyes?
The golden flocks’ of the butterflies ?
What is the secret you long to know?

Whence and whither they come and go?

Whence each comes like a flying flower,
Is a fairy tale for a twilight hour;
Of a wingless creature that can but creep,

Of a silken shroud and a folded sleep.

Whither each goes. is a dream for you

To dream on your pillow a long night through ;

Of boundless fields and a wind set free,

And a blue sky deep as the soundless sea!
Helen Gray Cone.

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