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Quote by Edgar Lee Masters

“Their spirits beat upon mine Like the wings of a thousand butterflies. I closed my eyes and felt their spirits vibrating. I closed my eyes, yet I knew when their lashes Fringed their cheeks from downcast eyes”

Quote by Edgar Lee Masters

Work

Spoon River Anthology

This literary work is a series of verse narratives that delve into the personal stories of various inhabitants of Spoon River, a fictional town in Illinois. The poems, written in a unique and haunting style, offer a glimpse into the lives of these characters, their triumphs, failures, and the ultimate fate that awaits them. The anthology is known for its innovative narrative structure and its poignant portrayal of human existence. more

Author

Edgar Lee Masters
Edgar Lee Masters

American poet, born on August 23, 1868, and died on March 5, 1950. His poetry is known for its profound portrayal of ordinary people and unique insights into the life of the American Midwest. more

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“When we exited the greenhouse, a kaleidoscope of butterflies floated over our heads, whirling in the sky. They were beautiful, their wings a creamy butter speckled with black. The top portion of the wings had stripes, similar to tiger markings, and the hind portion was marked with inlaid sapphire-blue crescents and one golden orange spot. One landed on my shoulder and fluttered its wings. "Those are flambé butterflies. It's how your grand-mère came up with the name for the other restaurant," said Phillipa. "I Googled the English name: scarce swallowtails." "I prefer flambé," I said.”

“At the time your book was written, the full story of the monarch migration was unknown to humanity." "When did they find it out?" Preston asked. The answer, to Dellarobia's astonishment, was within Ovid's lifetime. He had been just a bit older than Preston when the discovery was announced in the National Geographic, in 1976. A Canadian scientist chased the mystery his whole life, devising a tag that would stick to butterfly wings, recruiting volunteers to help track them, losing the trail many times. And then one winter's day, as an old man on shaky legs, he climbed a mountain in Michoacan to see what must have looked like his dream of heaven... Ovid could still quote passages of the article from memory: They carpeted the ground in their tremulous legions. He said he remembered exactly where he was when he read that article, and how he felt. "Where were you?" "Outside the post office, sitting on a lobster crate. I spent a lot of Saturdays there. My mother let me read the magazines before they went to their subscribers. I was so excited by the photos in that article, I ran all the way down Crown Street, all the way to West End and out a sandy road called Fortuna to the sea. I must have picked up a stick somewhere, because I remember jumping up and whacking every branch I passed, leaving a trail of flying leaves. When I got to the sea I didn't know what to do, so I threw the stick in Perseverance Bay and ran back. It was the happiest day of my life." Dellarobia wanted, of course, to know why. "Why," he repeated, thinking about it. "It was just like any schoolboy. I thought everything in the world was already discovered. Already in my books. A lot of dead stuff that put me to sleep. That was the day I understood the world is still living.”

“Butterflies would float up from our eyelashes. The butterflies would turn from white cocoons to purple-winged creatures. The air would become purple, and all of a sudden, the butterflies would etch their shadows across the ceiling. They would swarm into my brain and suck out every memory of us that I have. Then, I would be left with this one moment of us in this room, replaying itself like a still film frame over and over again.”

“The garment he'd sent had straps made of flower petals, a bodice made of ribbons lined in gems as small as glitter and a full skirt formed of hundreds of silk butterflies, all in different shades of blue that together formed a magical hue she'd never seen. Some had sheer blue wings that were almost as pale as tears, others were soft sky blue, a few had hints of violet, while some had periwinkle veins. The butterflies weren't alive, but they were so delicate and ethereal, at a glance they looked real.”