Frogs eat butterflies
Snakes eat frogs
Hogs eat snakes
Men eat hogs
Wallace Stephens
The nightingale's voice is a marvel
When you think of the moths that he eats,
Whether winged, pupating or larval
To him they are sweeter than sweet,
Don't condemn the poor nightingale's diet,
Remember before you rebuke -
Without them the bird would be quiet
And if you had to eat them - you'd puke.
S. Siddons
I find among the poems of Schiller
No mention of the caterpillar,
Nor can I find one anywhere
In Petrarch or in Baudelaire,
So here I sit in extra session
To give my personal impression.
The caterpillar, as it is called,
Is often hairy, seldom bald;
It looks as if it never shaves;
When as it walks, it walks in waves;
And from the cradle to the chrysalis
Is utterly speechless, songless, whistless.
Ogden Nash
To a Butterfly
I’ve watch’d you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! – not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister’s flowers:
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
William Wordsworth
To a butterfly
Stay near me, do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art,
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family.
Oh! Pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The times when in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey: with leaps and spring
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her, feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.
William Wordsworth
A ant, right trig and clean,
Came ae day whiding o'er the green,
Where, to advance her pride, she saw
A caterpillar moving slaw.
"Good-e'en t' ye, Mistress Ant," said he,
"How's a' at hame, I'm blyth to s' ye."
The sawcy ant view'd him with scorn,
Nor wad civilities return.
But, gecking up her head, quoth she:
"Poor animal, I pity thee,
Wha scarce can claim to be a creature,
But some experiment of nature,
Whase silly shape displeas'd her eye,
And thus unfinished was flung by.
For me, I'm made with better grace,
With active limbs, and lively face;
And cleverly can move with ease
Frae place to place where e'er I please.
Can foot a minuet or jig,
And snoov't like ony whirly-gig.
Which gars my Jo aft grip my hand
'Till his heart pitty pattys, and --"
But laigh my qualities I bring,
To stand up clashing with a thing,
A creeping thing, the like of thee,
Not worthy of a farewell t' ye."
The airy ant syne turn'd awa,
And left him with a proud gaffa.
The caterpillar was struck dumb,
And never answer'd her a mum.
The humble reptile fand some pain
Thus to be banter'd with disdain.
BUT tent neist time the ant came by
The worm was grown a butterfly.
Transparent were his wings and fair,
Which bare him flightering throw the air.
Upon a flower he stapt his flight
And, thinking on his former slight,
Thus to the ant himself addrest:
"Pray, madam, will ye please to rest,
And notice what I now advise.
Inferiors ne'er too much despise,
For fortune may gi'e sic a turn,
To raise aboon ye what ye scorn.
For instance, now I spread my wing
In air, while you're a creeping thing."
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