A stag, on seeing his reflection in the sparkling waters of a pond, admired his antlers’ regal beauty but despised his spindly legs.
“This disproportion,” he complained, “dishonors me. My head surmounts the tallest trees!; my feet are hardly fit to stir the dust.”
The baying of a hound disturbed this melancholy reverie. The stag attempted to escape, but snagged his antlers—useless ornaments!—on trees and shrubs, thus vitiating all his legs’ life-saving work. He changed his mind (too late!) and cursed as burden what he’d thought was blessing.
Beauty, though praised above utility, condemns us often to futility.