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 book-shelf,

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!