Poetry | Joseph Skipsey

THE BUTTERFLY

The butterfly from flower to flower
The urchin chas’d; and, when at last
He caught it in my lady’s bower,
He cried, ‘Ha, ha!’ and held it fast.

Awhile he laugh’d, but soon he wept,
When looking at the prize he’d caught
He found he had to ruin swept
The very glory he had sought.

· · ·