AFTER WINGS

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!

"After Wings" is reprinted from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed. Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915.

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