I know an entomologist

Who thinks it not a sin

To catch a harmless butterfly,

And stick it, with a pin,

Upon a piece of paper white,

And underneath the same,

In letters large and plain, to write

The creature’s Latin name.

I know another little man

Who catches, now and then,

A microscopic little thought

And goads it, with a pen,

To rhyme, until we wonder quite

How it can keep so tame,

And why he never fails to write

Beneath (in full) his name.

If you should ask me to decide

The which of them I’d rate

The greater torment of the two

I should not hesitate.

It’s wicked with a pin to bore

A butterfly—but then,

I loathe the other fellow more,

Who bores me with his pen.