She has in reserve, though they're now out of sight.

Ye two-footed, beautiful, passionate things,
If plumy or plumeless--without, or with wings,
Beware, lest ye break, in some hazardous hour,
Your vials of wrath, hot, or bitter, or sour!

And would ye but know how at times ye do seem
Transformed to bright furies, or frights in a dream,
Go, stand at the glass--to the painter go sit,
When anger is just at the height of its fit!




=The Butterfly's Dream=

A tulip, just opened, had offered to hold
A butterfly gaudy and gay;
And rocked in his cradle of crimson and gold,
The careless young slumberer lay.

For the butterfly slept;--as such thoughtless ones will,
At ease, and reclining on flowers;--
If ever they study, 'tis how they may kill
The best of their mid-summer hours!

And the butterfly dreamed, as is often the case
With _indolent_ lovers of change,
Who, keeping the body at ease in its place,