Fables in Song :: :: University of Virginia Library

A butterfly (and had the wretch been born
With all the beauties that, at best, adorn
A butterfly's complete perfection, still
He but a butterfly had been, at best)
Came into life a cripple; dispossest
Of half his natural features; born i' the chill,
Blemisht, and misbegotten; an abortion
Doom'd from the birth to suffering and distortion.

2

One wing unfinisht, and misshapen one:
Six legs he had, but of his six legs none
That served the purpose for which legs are made:
The piteous pivot of his own distress,
Aye with self-torturing unsteadiness
About himself he turn'd; and found no aid
In aught that life vouchsafed him, leg or wing,
To life's attainment of one wisht-for thing.

3

He saw the others hovering in the sun;
He saw them seek each other; saw them shun
Each other, by each other to be sought;
He saw them (each, itself, a second flower)
On flowers, entranced by the transcendent power
Of their own happiness; he saw them, fraught
With frolic rapture, fearless wantons all!
And saw himself, unable even to crawl.

4

“And I,” he thought, “I too, was meant to be
A wingèd joy, a wandering ecstasy!
Ah, must I envy, for his happier lot,
The wingless worm that hath, complete, whate'er
As worm he wants; who wants no more, to fare
Thro' life content; by life defrauded not
Of what mere life makes capable of joy
Even in a worm? still happier far than I!

5

“I, to whom life refuses all things! all
Life's joy in earth, air, water! Still too tall
The tiniest stem that bears the lowliest flower
For me to climb! too rough air's lightest sigh
For me to ride! the nearest dewdrop, dry
Ere I can reach it! All, beyond my power!

All, save to disappear—go down—go by—
Sink out of life, not having lived—and die!”

6

The dying sun the insect's dying moan
O'erheard, and answer'd from his falling throne,
“Mourn not! I even, I, the sun, go down,
Sink, and drop into darkness. Look at me!”
—He sinks. In pompous purple, pillows he,
His kingly forehead, girt with golden crown,
And, slowly, with delight his gaze grows dim,
Seeing earth's sadness for the loss of him.

7

Delicious homage of a dear dismay
Paid to the happy, when they pass away,
By grief not theirs! Beneath him, prostrate, lies
A world that worships him; and everywhere
Therein he finds some record rich and fair
Of his own power. He sinks: and wistful eyes
His pathway follow to its glorious bourn.
He sinks: and longing voices sigh “Return!”

8

He passes: but he hath not pass'd in vain.
He passes, proving by life's loss its gain,
And bearing with him what he leaves behind.
He goes: rejoicing, “All that I have given

Memory makes mine again, and makes it even
Mine more completely than before. I shined
Rising and setting. All my light was shown,
And all my force was felt.” Thus suns go down.

9

The boastful orb's last glories, lingering,
That cripple smote. “Go, glories! tell your king,”
Smiling he said, “go, him that sent you tell,
Not all so wretched as I deem'd was I.
Since I have seen how suns go down, thereby
School'd have I been to know, and value well,
What they, the happy,—they that have it not,—
Would fain filch even from a wretch's lot,

10

“The grandeur of its utter desolation.”
All glowing with rebuke and shamed vexation
The braggart sun's resentful blushes burst,
As o'er the deep, whose surface, and no more,
His glory gilt, he, slowly sinking, bore
This knowledge gain'd: that Misery at her worst
Hath one poor grace of tragic interest
Proud Pleasure vainly envies at his best.