As I spied swallows scything
 Across an evening sky,
I thought upon those midges
 Whose turn it was to die.

Do midges boast of heroes?
 Are some born lame or halt?
Are geniuses among them
 To reckon blame or fault?

And as they swarm by millions
 In garden, field or fen,
Do midges mourn their fellows?
 Or do they die like men?