Life, 1925-08-27 · page 14 of 36
Life — August 27, 1925 — page 14: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents a whimsical poem by Brian Hooker titled "Butterflying," illustrated with period engravings of elegantly dressed figures and butterflies. The poem uses the metaphor of a butterfly charming a violet to describe romantic flirtation. A butterfly tells the violet he'll change her eye color from blue to purple, flatters her appearance, then abandons her—behavior the poem characterizes as mere "Butterflying" (casual, non-committal courtship). The narrative follows the violet's heartbreak as she watches the butterfly pursue other flowers. The poem's moral: such behavior by men toward women is ultimately harmless—"They are only butterflying!"—a satirical commentary on how Victorian society dismissed male romantic fickleness as natural, inconsequential behavior rather than genuine deception or betrayal.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
BUTTERELY flew in a garaen fair (As butterflies often do, my dear) To a shy young violet blooming there (As pretty and sweet as you, my dear), And he said: “You're looking blue, my dear— Oh, will you, won't you woo, my dear? Let me turn the skies Of your innocent eyes Toa delicate purple hue, my dear! (So the violet had her day, Till the Butterfly fluttered away.) Though you couldn’t call it lying, Yet this fact there’s no denying: When he called her Dear, The Butterfly flew from that shady nook To another garden bed, my love. Where a rosebud gave him a saucy look That wer wicked head, my love. Says he: * re blushing red, my love— OA, will you, won't you wed, my love? Let me win the whole Of your beautiful soul, Or I may as well be dead, my love! (Well, we know what roses are— So the Butterdly fluttered afar ) Though I know what I'm implying, You could see without half trying That he didn’t intend To be just Her Friend— He was only Butterflying! The Butterfly left his rose full-blown For a lonely mountain height, sweetheart, Where a snowy lily bloomed alone On a cold, still moonlit night, sweetheart. “You're pale and frail and white, sweetheart-— Oh, live and learn delight, sweetheart! For I'm sure that you're So perfectly pure That whatever you do is right, sweethesrt!” {It’s the moral of my song That the Butterfly fluttered along.) When the men come ‘round you sighing; When they breathe of love undying, Never mind what they May sigh or say— They are only Butterflying! comicbooks.com