when i was grass, perhaps i may have wept

as every year the grass-blades paled and slept;

or shrieked in anguish impotent, beneath

the smooth impartial cropping of great teeth—

i don’t remember much what came to pass

when i was grass.

when i was monkey, i’m afraid the trees

weren’t always havens of contented ease;

things killed us, and we never could tell why;

no doubt we blamed the earth or sea or sky—

i have forgotten my rebellion’s shape

when i was ape.

now i have reached the comfortable skin

this stage of living is enveloped in,

and hold the spirit of my mighty race

self-conscious prisoner under one white face,—

i’m awfully afraid i’m going to die,

now i am i.

so i have planned a hypothetic life

to pay me somehow for my toil and strife.

blessed or damned, i someway must contrive

that i eternally be kept alive!

in this an endless, boundless bliss i see,—

eternal me!

when i was man, no doubt i used to care

about the little things that happened there,

and fret to see the years keep going by,

and nations, families, and persons die.

i didn’t much appreciate life’s plan

when i was man.