There was born to the world last night 
A woman-child for the world's delight. 
Her mouth was small as a rosebud is 
Before the bee and the blossom kiss; 
Her hair was a cloud and her eyes were fire. 
Her hands were full of delight and desire. 
Her cheek was a rose full blossoming. 
Her voice was honey, her tongue a sting. 

Before the night took thought of the day 
The child was born — with a caul, they say. 
The caul shall serve her in place of a charm, 
That water and fire shall not do her harm. 
The child was born to bring all men grief. 
Hunger and thirsting beyond relief. 
An ill star shone on the bitter morn 
When the mother died and the child was bom. 

She shall be christened with water of tears. 
With doubtful pleasure and trembling fears; 
We will name her Helen, that she shall be 
A warning, a wonder 'twixt sea and sea. 
Though the waves o'erwhelm her, she shall not drown. 
She shall not burn in the burning town: 
Except she burn of her own white fire. 
The world's disaster, the world's desire. 

The placid Pug that paces in the Park,
Harnessed in silk and led by leathern lead,
Lives his dull life, and recks not of the Shark
In distant waters. Lapped in sloth and greed,
He fails in strenuous life to make a mark,
The placid Pug that paces in the park.

Round the slow circle of his nights and days
His life revolves in calm monotony.
Not unsusceptible to casual praise,
And mildly moved by the approach of "tea,"
No forked and jagged lightning leaps and plays
Round the slow circle of his nights and days.

He scarcely turns his round protuberant eyes,
To mark the mood of animals or men.
His joy is limited to mild surmise
When a new biscuit swims into his ken.
And when athwart his gaze a Rabbit flies,
He scarcely turns his round protuberant eyes.

And all the while the Shark in Southern seas
Pursues the paths of his pulsating quest,
Though the thermometer at fierce degrees
Might well admonish him to take a rest,
The Pug at home snores in ignoble ease.
(And all the while the Shark in Southern seas!)

If Pugs like Sharks were brought up in the sea
And forced to swim long miles to find their food,
Tutored to front the Hake's hostility,
And beard the Lobster in his dangerous mood,
Would not their lives more sane, more useful be,
If Pugs like Sharks were brought up in the sea?

The placid Pug still paces in the park,
Untouched by thoughts of all that might have been.
Undreaming that he might have "steered his bark"
Through many a stirring sight and stormy scene.
But being born a Pug and not a Shark
The placid Pug still paces in the park.