The Butterfly

The butterfly from flower to flower 
  The urchin chas’d; and, when at last 
He caught it in my lady’s bower, 
  He cried, “Ha, ha!” and held it fast. 
 
Awhile he laugh’d, but soon he wept, 
  When looking at the prize he’d caught 
He found he had to ruin swept 
  The very glory he had sought.