A TWIG where clung two soft cocoons I broke from a wayside spray, And carried home to a quiet desk Where, long forgot, it lay. One morn I chanced to lift the lid, And lo! as light as air, A moth flew up on downy wings And settled above my chair! A dainty, beautiful thing it was, Orange and silvery gray And I marvelled how from the withered bough Such fairy stole away. Had the other flown? I turned to see, And found it striving still To free itself from the swathing floss And rove the air at will. 'Poor little prisoned waif,' I said, 'You shall not struggle more'; And tenderly I cut the threads, And watched to see it soar. Alas! a feeble chrysalis It dropped from its silken bed; My help had been the direst harm — The pretty moth was dead! I should have left it there to gain The strength that struggle brings: 'Tis stress and strain, with moth or man, That free the folded wings! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THAT SUCH HAVE DIED by EMILY DICKINSON THE LITTLE PEACH by EUGENE FIELD SONNETS FOR PICTURES: A VENETIAN PASTORAL (BY GIOGIONE) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ON THE SUN COMING OUT IN THE AFTERNOON by HENRY DAVID THOREAU POSSESSED by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT NOVEMB. 5. 1644 by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL (VERSION 2) by WILLIAM BLAKE ON THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |