As I spied swallows scything...

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?