Two Butterflies went out at Noon—
And waltzed above a Farm— 
Then stepped straight through the Firmament 
And rested on a Beam— 

And then—together bore away
Upon a shining Sea— 
Though never yet, in any Port— 
Their coming mentioned—be— 

If spoken by the distant Bird—
If met in Ether Sea
By Frigate, or by Merchantman—
No notice—was—to me—

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry – 
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll – 
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears a Human soul.