:
The Butterfly and the Bee.
Category: Poetry
Methought I heard a butterfly Say to a labouring bee: "Thou hast no colours of the sky On painted wings like me."
"Poor child of vanity! those dyes, And colours bright and rare," With mild reproof, the bee replies, "Are all beneath my care.

"Content I toil from morn to eve, And scorning idleness, To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave The vanity of dress."

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