And we are meek in our replies
His claws and beak to bear he brings;
Have pity on all butterflies!
Since we are of no home possest,
And have no joy in courts and kings,
And love on working-days to rest,
The name of “Idlers” to us clings.
On all our gypsy travellings
They follow us with jeering cries.
From every rose a spider springs;