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...DOMESDAY BOOK: FINDING OF THE BODY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MAKING THE BED by KAREN SWENSON THE SONG OF THE MAD WOMAN'S SON by KAREN SWENSON THE METROPOLITAN TOWER by SARA TEASDALE BATTLE HYMN OF THE RUSSIAN REPUBLIC by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |