The Butterfly And The Bee By William Lisle Bowles

Methought I heard a butterfly
Say to a laboring bee;
“Thou hast no colors of the sky
On painted wings like me.”
“Poor child of vanity! those dyes,
And colors bright and rare,”
With mild reproof, the bee replies,
“Are all beneath my care.”
“Content I toil from morn till eve,
And, scorning idleness,
To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave
The vanity of dress.”