A Better Thing

2 0 00

A Better Thing

I took it for a bird of prey that soared

High over ocean, battled mount, and plain;

’Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored

The invisibly obstructing window-pane!

Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve

But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye,

Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve

Thee, little angel of a lower sky!