A wren flies high but keeps its eyes out for worms and seeds.

Though the bold wings of Poesy affect

— by William Wordsworth

Though the bold wings of Poesy affect The clouds, and wheel around the mountain tops Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt, Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect The lingering dew—there steals along, or stops Watching the least small bird that round her hops, Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect. Her functions are they therefore less divine, Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent Her simplest fancies? Should that fear be thine, Aspiring Votary, ere thy hand present One offering, kneel before her modest shrine, With brow in penitential sorrow bent!