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.
More motionless! and then
How motionless!—not frozen seas
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again;
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister’s flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We’ll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
William Wordsworth

Today is the first day that there have been mass gatherings of the butterflies, all clustered and careening on the yellow flowers and the buddleia - peacocks, red admirals, small tortoiseshells, a stray blue and various little brown jobs. The day was warm and pleasant but now it;s lashing and 16C. Hard to imagine the heat being endured in Europe - and elsewhere.

And yesterday's spider is still there, silent and watchful but his neighbour - smaller and hungrier - was more successful.