Explore "The Ballade of Butterflies" by Joyce Kilmer on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Because we never build a nest / And no one of us ever sings, / We are the butt of every jest / That strutting loud-mouthed robin flings. / Unless the field with laughter rings / And we are meek in our replies / His claws and beak to bear he brings; / Have pity on all butterflies!
Since we are of no home possest, / And have no joy in courts and kings, / And love on working-days to rest, / The name of "Idlers" to us clings. / On all our gypsy travellings / They follow us with jeering cries. / From every rose a spider springs; / Have pity on all butterflies!
A little thing is our request -- / Some peace from nets of sticks and strings, / An hour to feel the sunlight's zest, / To 'scape the deadly bee that stings. / From hostile fortune's bolts and slings / Give us release ere Summer dies -- / We dread the Winter's threatenings; / Have pity on all butterflies!
L'ENVOI
Great Pan, kind lord of living things, / Look on us now with friendly eyes. / We pray to you on trembling wings, / Have pity on all butterflies!