Page:The Smart Set (Volume 1).djvu/62

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REAL Butterfly, I mean,
 * With Orange-pointed saffron wings

And coat of inky Velveteen—
 * None of your Fashion-plated Things

That dangle from the Apronstrings
 * Of Mrs. Grundy—or you see

Loll by the Stage Door or the Wings,
 * Or sadly flit from Tea to Tea.

Not such a Butterfly was he;
 * He lived for Sunshine and the Hour;

He did not flit from Tea to Tea,
 * But gayly flew from Flower to Flower.

One Day, there came a Thunder Shower—
 * An Open Window he espied.

He fluttered in; behold, a Flower!
 * An Azure Rose with petals wide.

He did not linger to decide
 * Which Flower; there was no other there.

He calmly settled down inside
 * That Rose, and no one said "Beware!"

There was no Friend to say, "Take care!"
 * How ever, then, could he suppose

This Blossom of such Color Rare
 * Was just an Artificial Rose?

All might have ended well—who knows—
 * But just then someone chanced to say:

"The very Latest Thing! That Rose
 * In Paris is the Rage To-day."

No Rose of such a Tint outré
 * Was ever seen in Garden Bed;

The Butterfly had such a Gay,
 * Chromatic Sense, it turned his head.