INCORRIGIBLE.
A GREAT honey-bee bustled over the lea,
Then stopped in a field of white clover
To load up his thigh, till he scarcely could fly
The wide sloping meadow-land over.
He sneered, as he flew, at the dragon-fly blue,
At the swallow so airily winging.
The clear, lazy brook, droning tunes in a nook,
The bobolink, joyfully singing.
As she went on her way, Cloverhead heard him say,
Like a Pharisee noisily praying,
"How well it would be, if the creatures like me
Worked always, and never were playing !
"Yon stream, with a will should be turning a mill;
That dragon-fly, learn to make honey;
That pert bobolink, I do really think,
If he sings, should be singing for money."
So Busy Bee sped, till he bumped his wise head
On a cherry bough whitely in flower;
Fresh, dainty, and fair, sat a butterfly there,
Like a queen in a summer-laid bower.
"O Butterfly gay, have you aught laid away?
Don't you know you're a terrible sinner
To idle your time while yet in your prime,
Having nothing laid up for your dinner?"
