Envy Poem by Jean Blewett

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 underrate,
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.