The Soarer

There soars a warbler toward high Heaven, His course seems sure and straight;— So speeds an arrow from the bow-string, Yet who can read his fate! For while he carols like a seraph Bound for a radiant star Mayhap the fowler's eye, relentless, Has doomed him from afar. A longer life the crawling snail hath Than thou—O wanderer bright— Ah, let the sluggard crawl in safety, Thine is the realm of light! Like thee a soaring soul's in peril, Yet its one hour is worth A whole Eternity of grovelling Closer to grimy earth.