Once had these wings of power
Strong in their gauzery,
During thy life's brief hour
to lift thee free.
Insect, despised of men,
Now life's no more in thee,
Ne'er shall they beat again
their frailty.
Pinions are pinned to board
By some man's cruelty;
Caught in the air they soared
by sunlit tree.
Now in thy glass-topped case
Outstretched their tracery,
Nailed to this hateful place -
thy Calvary.
Men shall roll back the cloth;
Point out the marks on thee;
Praise, without trace of wrath,
thy rarity;
Speak of thy loveliness,
Fashioned so perfectly;
Pass in forgetfulness,
indifferently. |
