Butterfly by Kumarendra Mallick

The autumn-time moon reminding me of hemanta and sisir and taking to the herald of spring.

Lines Written in Early Spring

By William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

bijay kant dubey
09/20/2016 02:14 AM

It is said the autumn is the second spring, for even every leaf is coloured. Thank you, Bijay babu for liking the earth in different shades.

kumarendramallick
09/20/2016 00:05 AM

Butterflies, painted ladies of dreams flying, hovering around, taking wings. Ye dil mange more. Let the seulis hang by and scatter across. Let the spring come in bunches.

bijay kant dubey
09/19/2016 08:06 AM

Thank you, Aparna for this colourful illustration. In fact, the butterfly is drowned in colours.

kumarendramallick
09/18/2016 22:55 PM

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