THIS great purple butterfly, In the prison of my hands, Has a learning in his eye Not a poor fool understands. Once he lived a schoolmaster With a stark, denying look; A string of scholars went in fear Of his great birch and his great book. Like the clangour of a bell, Sweet and harsh, harsh and sweet, That is how he learnt so well To take the roses for his meat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WISDOM COMETH WITH THE YEARS by COUNTEE CULLEN DOMESDAY BOOK: GREGORY WENNER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE APPROACH OF LOVE by LOUIS ARAGON THE PILGRIM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |