IF I could see with a midge's eye, Or think with a midge's brain, I wonder what I'd say of the world, With all its joy and pain. Would my seven brief hours of mortal life Seem long as seventy years, As I danced in the flickering sunshine Amid my tiny peers? Should I feel the slightest hope or care For the midges yet to be; Or think I died before my time, If I died at half-past three Instead of living till set of sun On the breath of the summer wind; Or deem that the world was made for me And all my little kind? Perhaps if I did I'd know as much Of Nature's mighty plan, And what it meant for good or ill. As that larger midge, a man! |