Butterfly orchid, lovely sight,
Brushed by the robes of Venus in flight.
Dew that dripped from her lilly-white limbs,
Nourished your roots with its liquor of Spring.
Dewy she was from the spreading seas,
Dewy from forests of sap freshen’d trees,
Silently now through the night absconds,
Wending her way to the nearest ponds,
Sinks like a swan,
Down between reeds and valerian.
Flower of Venus, paragon,
Now the wind dies like a soft violin.
Threaded with cobwebs from forests around you,
Threaded with rays from the tumbling sun!
Pale is your face and all day you have kept
out of the sunshine and dreamed as you slept.
Know that your blood is alike to a young girls,
Know that your dream life is similar to hers,
Purest of all,
Sweet with the scent of a Summers ball.
Flower of Venus, stem, and root,
Feel the wind rising that slept at your foot.
Driving a force that will tear through the gloom,
Winging like bats to the burgeoning moon.
Maiden flower, curtsey your best,
Virtue destroyed reeks of bitterness,
Can you interpret your roseate dream?
Deep in your roots lies a secret stream,
An earth-brewed spume,
Flower of Venus, “Satyrium”.