A long-legged gnat with airy wings, a dart
Sharp as a needle and a searching tusk,
Was flutt'ring round my lamp, clung to my bookshelf,
And wandered over papers. Then I blew
On it, to chase it far away. But no,
Beneath the tempest of my breath it clung
Still faster to the paper's slender shelter
And moved not, till I thought my breath had killed it.
We watched each other; then it flew away.
I thought how Fate and we thus ofttimes watch
Each other, till Fate blow us into atoms,
And we remain in some weak place, in Death's
Suspense, not knowing if again the storm
Will blow. But Fate is careless and will let
Us go, if but the wings that are to take
Us hence are still untorn, unsinged, uncrushed;
Or else we creep along and die unseen,
A wingless worm, not understanding what
Those papers and those shelves contain that are
No revelation, nought but a grave, whilst others
Suck life and food, from where the storm of Fate
Hath torn us, unresisting, meaningless,
And watching with an instant's careless glance,
If we are really dead, or still may fly.
Cheat cruel Fate, keep still like Death, move not,
Flutter not; then unfold thy wings, and go
Thy way, the coming morn is full of life,
Bury thy head in flowers, in the dew,
The sun is rising and thou art alive!
