On a spring day, the speaker notices blue butterflies tumbling through the air like “sky-flakes,” their color so pure and concentrated that early flowers seem dull by comparison. The speaker calls them “flowers that fly and all but sing,” as if they are the season’s first real blossoms. Then the scene shifts: the butterflies settle with wings folded, clinging in the wind where wheels have cut fresh tracks through April mud. The bright, airy motion gives way to something quieter and more fragile. The speaker’s mood feels tender and a little wistful—delighted by the butterflies’ vivid beauty, but aware how easily it lands in the mire. The poem creates a mood of fleeting spring loveliness, poised between flight and stillness.
Blue-Butterfly Day — Summary
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 Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing: And now from having ridden out desire They lie closed over in the wind and cling Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.