Butterfly poems use words and images that describe the essence of these beautiful creatures. Butterflies are seen as symbols of transformation, beauty, and freedom.
In many places, they’re also seen as symbols of hope, joy, and new beginnings. People also use them to represent the soul or the spirit’s journey after death because of their transformation from caterpillar to butterfly
Butterfly poems are a celebration of nature’s artwork. They use simple words to capture the extraordinary beauty found in these small, winged wonders.
They sometimes use phrases like “dancing on the breeze” or “floating like a petal” to convey the gentle and elegant movement.
Let’s read some famous butterfly poems and share them with others.
An Irish Blessing
May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun.
And find your shoulder to light on.
To bring you luck, happiness and riches.
Today, tomorrow and beyond.
To a Butterfly
I’ve watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!–not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again …
Mariposa
By Edna St. Vincent Millay,
Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Death comes in a day or two …
A Chrysalis
Mary Emily Bradley
She brought it in her tiny hand
To see if I would understand,
And wondered when I made reply,
‘You’ve found a baby butterfly.’
‘A butterfly is not like this,’
With doubtful look she answered me …
From Cocoon Forth A Butterfly’
By Emily Dickinson
From cocoon forth a butterfly
As lady from her door
Emerged – a summer afternoon –
Repairing everywhere …
One Day Butterfly
Aren’t we all one-day butterflies,
not aware of time.
Searching for partners or honey
until Death kisses us.
Then in his arms, tenderly rocked,
waiting for a new chance
to fly away again
and join the dance
of the one-day butterfly
Mariposa
By Edna St. Vincent Millay
Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Death comes in a day or two.
All the things we ever knew
Will be ashes in that hour,
Mark the transient butterfly,
How he hangs upon the flower.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Suffer me to cherish you
Till the dawn is in the sky.
Whether I be false or true,
Death comes in a day or two.
Lepidoptera
On broken butterfly wing,
your crippled mind fluttered into my schoolroom
I couldn’t do a thing to stir its organs
of poor maimed sense to life again.
The Butterfly’s Dream
By Hannah F. Gould
A tulip, just opened, had offered to hold
A butterfly, gaudy and gay;
And, rocked in a cradle of crimson and gold,
The careless young slumberer lay.
A Butterfly Talks
By Annette Wynne
A butterfly talks to each flower
And stops to eat and drink,
And I have seen one lighting
In a quiet spot to think;
Two Butterflies
By Emily Dickinson
Two Butterflies went out at Noon—
And waltzed above a Farm—
Then stepped straight through the
Firmament And rested on a Beam—
The Butterfly and the Bee
By William Lisle Bowles
Methought I heard a butterfly
Say to a labouring bee:
‘Thou hast no colours of the sky
On painted wings like me.’
After Wings
By Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt
This was your butterfly, you see.
His fine wings made him vain?—
The caterpillars crawl, but he
Passed them in rich disdain?—
Ode To A Butterfly
By Thomas Wentworth Higginson
Thou spark of life that wavest wings of gold,
Thou songless wanderer mid the songful birds,
With Nature’s secrets in thy tints unrolled
Through gorgeous cipher, past the reach of words,
From Cocoon Forth A Butterfly
By Emily Dickinson
‘From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
As Lady from her Door
Emerged — a Summer Afternoon —
Repairing Everywhere —
Blue Butterfly
It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
After Wings
This was your butterfly, you see,
His fine wings made him vain:
The caterpillars crawl, but he
Passed them in rich disdain.
My pretty boy says, “Let him be
Only a worm again!”
O child, when things have learned to wear
Wings once, they must be fain
To keep them always high and fair:
Think of the creeping pain
Which even a butterfly must bear
To be a worm again!
This is all about butterfly poems.