So "well-to-do women who crowd the ranks"
Of Labour are playing but childish pranks;
They are butterfly despoilers
Of the honeyed hives of the working bees;
They lower the wage and lessen the ease
Of the true fate-destined toilers. [A]
"Work for mere love!" So the butterflies say,
(Though they commonly stoop to the casual pay),
Well, love is blind—this sort of it.
To teach for pin-money possibly's fun