A Peacock spreading its gorgeous tail mocked a Crane that
passed by, ridiculing the ashen hue of its plumage and saying,
"I am robed, like a king, in gold and purple and all the colors
of the rainbow; while you have not a bit of color on your wings."
"True," replied the Crane; "but I soar to the heights of heaven
and lift up my voice to the stars, while you walk below, like a
cock, among the birds of the dunghill."
Fine feathers don't make fine birds.
(Translated by George Fyler Townsend, 1814-1900)