The caterpillar and the butterfly

Patient, laboring on a branch of jasmine, A caterpillar trembled, seeing its end draw near, It said: “I am quite ailing, I no longer even digest the leaf of salad; What a pity, so much cabbage and having no appetite; And little by little I am dying;

How sad it is to die! Far better not to be born. It is fitting that I submit without complaints; Others after me will furrow the black earth. — But you will not die, a butterfly says to it; For if I remember well, in the same planting I once lived with you, I am your sister then; The future prepares for you a happy destiny; Perhaps a single love God willed to unite us. Wait!… for the passage of the sleep is swift. A chrysalis you will become as I in the gentle breeze; Like me you will be able, with such brilliant colors, To sip the perfume of the flowers.”

The old one answered: “Imposture, imposture! Nothing will change, I know, the laws of Nature; The thornbush can never be jasmine.

In my poor rings, joints so frail, What artist could fix wings upon them? Madwoman, go on your way.

— Caterpillar, you are right; limited is the possible, Exclaims a snail, pleased, upon its horns.” A toad jeers. A hornet, whose dart looms large, Insults the beautiful butterfly.

No; not always is that true which displays abundant light. You are blind through obstinacy, Denying souls to the dead, O learned ones without reason, You resemble the caterpillar.