 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Worm
I saw a worm, with many a fold,
It spun itself a silken tomb;
And there in winter time enrolled,
It heeded not the cold or gloom.
It spun itself a silken tomb;
And there in winter time enrolled,
It heeded not the cold or gloom.
Within a small, snug nook it lay,
Nor snow nor sleet could reach it there,
Nor wind was felt in gusty day,
Nor biting cold of frosty air.
Nor snow nor sleet could reach it there,
Nor wind was felt in gusty day,
Nor biting cold of frosty air.
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Spring comes with bursting buds and grass,
Around him stirs a warmer breeze;
The chirping insects by him pass,
His hiding place not yet he leaves.
Around him stirs a warmer breeze;
The chirping insects by him pass,
His hiding place not yet he leaves.
But summer came, its fervid breath,
Was felt within the sleeper's cell;
And waking from his sleep of death,
I saw him crawl from out his shell.
Was felt within the sleeper's cell;
And waking from his sleep of death,
I saw him crawl from out his shell.
Slow and with pain it first moved on,
And of the dust it seemed to be;
A day passed by; the worm was gone,
It soared on golden pinions free.
And of the dust it seemed to be;
A day passed by; the worm was gone,
It soared on golden pinions free.
Poem No. 257; late 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |