while others can fly; some insects can store up honey or grain; some live only a few hours; some live for a season. In like manner, some men are stupid and are unable to succeed in the world; whereas others rise to honour, accumulate wealth, reach honoured old age and see their children prosper. But the end is the same for all men, as it is for the insect,—dust." But then the poet fancies that he hears the voice of the insects reproaching him, and asking him: "What are you yourself, compared with an insect? You are not, perhaps, quite so good as an insect. For the insect at least fulfils its life upon earth; the male finds its female; the honey or the grain is stored up; and the joy of life is found by us. But you—what have you done in this world? You have no wife; you have no treasures; you have had no real part in the enjoyment of this world. And therefore however you may moralise, perhaps you are not worthy to compare yourself even with the bee or the ant or the dragon-fly that does its little duty in this impermanent state of existence."
END
