With ceaseless hovering and with restless flight,
Is burnèd straight to ashes in the same,
And finds her death where was her most delight
The proud aspiring boy that needs would pry
Into the secrets of the highest seat,
Had some conceit to gain content thereby,
Or else his folly sure was wondrous great.
These did through folly perish all and die:
And though I know it, even so do I.


XXVII

Poor worm, poor silly worm, alas, poor beast!
Fear makes thee hide thy head within the ground,
Because of creeping things thou art the least,
Yet every foot gives thee thy mortal wound.
But I, thy fellow worm, am in worse state,
For thou thy sun enjoyest, but I want mine.
I live in irksome night, O cruel fate!
My sun will never rise, nor ever shine.
Thus blind of light, mine eyes misguide my feet,
And baleful darkness makes me still afraid;
Men mock me when I stumble in the street,
And wonder how my young sight so decayed.
Yet do I joy in this, even when I fall,
That I shall see again and then see all.


XXVIII