The Bird and the Fly

I saw a speck on my window pane
Last night 'gainst the leaden sky;
My windows were swept by bullets of rain,
As the storm went sullenly by.
Was it a fly on the window-pane?
Was it a bird in the sky,
Straining wet wings 'gainst the pitiless rain,
As the storm rushed sweltering by?
It was a fly on my window-pane,
Happy, and warm, and dry;
Counting the silvery drops of rain,
As they hissed from the angry sky.
It was a bird on the stormy blast,
Plunged in despair to try
Could he reach a refuge, till death had passed
On the hurricane thundering by.
And I said; Alas! for my little bird!
And I said: O happy fly!
Sheltered and safe from perils unheard,
And the moods of a winter sky.
Then sudden, a spider leaped from his nest,
And wrapped the enchanted fly
In fold and fold to his pitiless breast,
Without struggle, or plaint, or cry.
And the storm went wailing around the world,
And here on a branch close by,
My bird sat chirping, with pinions furled,
And the clouds soared clear and high.

And I said: O my soul! were it better for thee
Here in thy haven to lie,
Than out in the stress of the stormy lea,
Battling for victory?
There is peril at home; there is dread abroad;
And a bolt from the bluest sky:
Now, take thy chance, and trust in thy God;
He is wiser and stronger than I.

P.A. SHEEHAN