Classic Poem

A Wren dropped down on my window sill,
And his little feet was hid in the snow;
Yet he tossed me a saucy glance, as to say,
I'm happy out here where the ice wind blow
And life seems bright and cheerful as May;
And you inside, in your soft armchair,
Seems half in content and half in despair.

And coyly he frisked about in the snow,
And the white flakes flew from his dainty feet;
And airily lifting his little right wing,
With latest wren etiquette me did he greet;
Then dashed he away, with a merry swing:
And I thought as he scurried away from my sight,
Contentment is his who reads it aright.

He was without and I was within;
Yet he had the sunshine, I had the shade;
With life as it was, he e'er could rejoice,
While I must be pampered, and comforts be made,
Ere I my jubilant joys could voice;
And I thought as I mused on the failings of men,
Which does God deems wisest, the sage or the wren?