METHOUGHT I heard a butterfly Say to a labouring bee: "Thou hast no colours of the sky On painted wings like me." "Poor child of vanity! those dyes, And colours bright and rare," With mild reproof, the bee replies, "Are all beneath my care. "Content I toil from morn to eve, And scorning idleness, To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave The vanity of dress." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON [APRIL 6, 1862] by KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD LYNCHED by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. MY ANGUISH by INNOKENTI FYODOROVICH ANNENSKY SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 36. STRONG, LIKE THE SEA by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE VALLEY OF REMORSE by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE MISTAKE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE LULLABY by FRED EMERSON BROOKS DIS ALITER VISUM; OR, LE BYRON DE NOS JOURS by ROBERT BROWNING |