Thursday, February 16, 2012

The Butterfly by Ann Taylor



THE Butterfly, an idle thing,
Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing,
As do the bee and bird; 
Nor does it, like the prudent ant, 
Lay up the grain for times of want,
A wise and cautious hoard.

My youth is but a summer's day: 
Then like the bee and ant I'll lay
A store of learning by;
And though from flower to flower I rove, 
My stock of wisdom I'll improve
Nor be a butterfly.

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