#la farfalla

みねはもえふもとはこほるふじ川のわれもうき世を住みぞわづらふ

At the peak it burns and At the foot does freeze: The Fuji River, just as I, too, in this cruel world Live and suffer.

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清原 深養父 Kiyohara no Fukayabu  fl.9th/10th Century

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i suoi seni

fecero impazzire

la besciamella

che riposava sul tavolo.

Look at the butterflies! purposeless things, How idly they float on their gossamer wings, Over the poppies and over the grass, Swift as the down of a thistle they pass.

Where are they going, and why are they here In the heat of the day and the noon of the year? They flutter awhile in the brightness, and then They are gone from our sight, and they come not again.

And we — we are wearied with fever and frost; Whatever we do, it must be at a cost; We hear as we journey, the dropping of tears; We bear on our foreheads the stamp of the years.

But look at the butterflies! beautiful things, Before us and over us flashing their wings; It may be, the Maker who fashioned them thus, Has sent the gay creatures on errands to us.

Perhaps we go slowly when we should be swift To follow the scent of the roses, that drift Their pink snow about us, more oft we might play And yet finish our tasks by the end of the day.

O blest are the eyes that are clear to behold The wonderful glow of the butterflies' gold, With leisure to follow their flight as they pass Silently, gracefully, over the grass!

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The Butterflies

Ellen M. Huntington Gates  1835-1920

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One day a Poppy, just in play, Said to a butterfly, " Go 'way, Go 'way, you naughty thing! Oh, my! But you're a bold bad butterfly! "

Of course 'twas only said in fun, He was a perfect paragon — In every way a spotless thing (Save for two spots upon his wing).

But tho' his morals were the best, He could not understand a jest; And somehow what the Poppy said Put ideas in his little head, And soon he really came to wish He were the least bit " devilish. " He then affected manners rough And strained his voice to make it gruff, And scowled as who should say " Beware, I am a dangerous character. You'd best not fool with me, for I — I am a bold, bad butterfly. "

He hung around the wildest flowers, And kept the most unseemly hours, With dragonflies and drunken bees, And learned to say " By Jove! " with ease, Until his pious friends, aghast, Exclaimed, " He's getting awf'lly fast! "

He shunned the nicer flowers, and threw Out hints of shady things he knew About the laurels, and one day He even went so far to say Something about the lilies sweet I could not possibly repeat!

At length, it seems, from being told How bad he was, he grew so bold, This most obnoxious butterfly, That one day, swaggering 'round the sky, He swaggered in the net of Mist- er Jones, the entomologist. " It seems a sin, " said Mr. J., " This harmless little thing to slay, " As, taking it from out his net, He pinned it to a board, and set Upon a card below the same, In letters large, its Latin name, Which is —

but I omit it, lest Its family might be distressed, And stop the little sum per year They pay me not to print it here.

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The Bold Bad Butterfly

Oliver Herford  1863-1935

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Silvia De Angelis nella poesia “La Farfalla” eleva questo insetto a simbolo di bellezza e fragilità, tessendo con maestria parole che dipingono un ritratto vivido e commovente di una delle creature più delicate della natura. La poesia è un canto che celebra la grazia effimera della farfalla, esplorando la sua esistenza attraverso un linguaggio ricco e immagini poetiche che stimolano la mente e il…

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