Psyche

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The butterfly the ancient Grecians made

The soul's fair emblem, and its only name--

But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade

Of mortal life! -- For in this earthly frame

Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame,

Manifold motions making little speed,

And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.