WHEN Satan sends—to vex the mind of man
And urge him on to meanness and to wrong—
His satellites, there is not one that can
Acquit itself like Envy. Not so strong
As lust, so quick as fear, so big as hate—
A pigmy thing, the twin of sordid greed—
Its work, all noble things to under-rate,
Decry fair face, fair form, fair thought, fair deed,
A sneer it has for what is highest, best,
For love’s soft voice, and virtue’s robe of white;
Truth is not true, and pity is not kind,
A great task done is but a pastime light.
Tormented, and tormenting is the mind
That grants to Envy room to make its nest.