Page:Poems for Children Sigourney 1836.pdf/51



But to the Butterfly, the Bee Replied, with serious brow, "Suppose you work an hour with me,    I'm not at leisure now.

By daily industry I live, Say, will you aid my task? And bear this pollen to the hive, If I do what you ask?

Perhaps you'd better toil a while For your own winter store, For Summer wears a fleeting smile, And Autumn's at the door."

"Good bye," the Butterfly rejoin'd,    "You've grown a mope, I see, There's nothing hurts a brilliant mind,     Like stupid industry."

And so, the Bee with cheerful care, Pursued on pinions light, Thro' the vast regions of the air, Her trackless path aright.