The butterfly the ancient Grecians made The soul's fair emblem, and its only name -- But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade Of mortal life! For in this earthly frame Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame, Manifold motions making little speed, And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARY'S GIRLHOOD (FOR A PICTURE): 1 by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI MY FRIEND by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS AFTERGLOW by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN A SABBATH MORNING AT SEA by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TOBY TOSSPOT by GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER THE SUPPER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES |