THIS great purple butterfly, In the prison of my hands, Has a learning in his eye Not a poor fool understands. Once he lived a schoolmaster With a stark, denying look; A string of scholars went in fear Of his great birch and his great book. Like the clangour of a bell, Sweet and harsh, harsh and sweet, That is how he learnt so well To take the roses for his meat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CAMBODIAN BOX by KAREN SWENSON SIR JOHN FRANKLIN; ON THE CENTOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALFRED TENNYSON THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE by ELINOR WYLIE THE VEERY'S FLUTE by LUCY BRANCH ALLEN PRAYER IN THE TRENCHES by BRENT DOW ALLINSON THE WIFE'S SONG by ERNEST BENSHIMOL ONCE WE PLAYED by MATHILDE BLIND TO ROBERT CALVERLEY TREVELYAN & ELIZABETH TREVELYAN by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |