Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.

Then my verse I dishonor, my pictures despise, my person degrade and my temper chastise; and the pen is my terror, the pencil my shame; and my talents I bury, and dead is my fame.

But to go to school in a summer morn, O! It drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay.

The person who does not believe in miracles surely makes it certain that he or she will never take part in one.

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.

Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.

A DIVINE IMAGE Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face; Terror the human form divine, And Secresy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge.