November Sunshine and the House-Flies

When the dawn struck on Memnon, as they say,
The child of morning answer'd; so the stroke
Of this warm sunshine on the room, awoke
To song those lesser children of the day,
The window-flies; I watch'd each mazy track,
I saw them deftly treading the smooth pane,
Or, haply, flitting with prone wings and back,
To the near cornice, to return again.
Ah! little ones! your joy is brief and vain:
Full soon the brush shall sweep your tiny forms,
Supine and dumb, into the wind and rain;
'Tis sad to be swept out into the storms.
'Twere sadder to revive, and cast about
For foothold, in that roaring world without!