by: Sarah Piatt (1836-1919)
- HIS was your butterfly, you see--
- His fine wings made him vain:
- The caterpillars crawl, but he
- Passed them in rich disdain.--
- My pretty boy says, "Let him be
- Only a worm again!"
- O child, when things have learned to wear
- Wings once, they must be fain
- To keep them always high and fair:
- Think of the creeping pain
- Which even a butterfly must bear
- To be a worm again!
POEMS BY SARAH PIATT
"After Wings" is reprinted
from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed.
Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915.