SISTER. <br />Do, my dearest brother John, <br />Let that butterfly alone. <br /> <br />BROTHER. <br />What harm now do I do? <br />You're always making such a noise- <br /> <br />SISTER. <br />O fie, John; none but naughty boys <br />Say such rude words as you. <br /> <br />BROTHER. <br />Because you're always speaking sharp: <br />On the same thing you always harp. <br />A bird one may not catch, <br />Nor find a nest, nor angle neither, <br />Nor from the peacock pluck a feather, <br />But you are on the watch <br />To moralize and lecture still. <br /> <br />SISTER. <br />And ever lecture, John, I will, <br />When such sad things I hear. <br />But talk not now of what is past; <br />The moments fly away too fast, <br />Though endlessly they seem to last <br />To that poor soul in fear. <br /> <br />BROTHER. <br />Well, soon (I say) I'll let it loose; <br />But, sister, you talk like a goose, <br />There's no soul in a fly. <br /> <br />SISTER. <br />It has a form and fibres fine, <br />Were tempered by the hand divine <br />Who dwells beyond the sky. <br />Look, brother, you have hurt its wing- <br />And plainly by its fluttering <br />You see it's in distress. <br />Gay painted coxcomb, spangled beau, <br />A butterfly is called, you know, <br />That's always in full dress: <br />The finest gentleman of all <br />Insects he is-he gave a ball, <br />You know the poet wrote. <br />Let's fancy this the very same, <br />And then you'll own you've been to blame <br />To spoil his silken coat. <br /> <br />BROTHER. <br />Your dancing, spangled, powdered beau, <br />Look, through the air I've let him go: <br />And now we're friends again. <br />As sure as he is in the air, <br />From this time, Ann, I will take care, <br />And try to be humane.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-butterfly-32/
