THE beams of April, ere it goes, A worm, scarce visible, disclose; All winter long content to dwell The tenant of his native shell. The same prolific season gives The sustenance by which he lives, The mulberry-leaf, a simple store, That serves him--till he needs no more! For, his dimensions once complete, Thenceforth none ever sees him eat; Though, till his growing time be past, Scarce ever is he seen to fast. That hour arrived, his work begins; He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins; Till circle upon circle wound Careless around him and around, Conceals him with a veil, though slight, Impervious to the keenest sight. Thus self-inclosed, as in a cask, At length he finishes his task: And, though a worm when he was lost, Or caterpillar at the most, When next we see him, wings he wears, And in papilio-pomp appears; Becomes oviparous; supplies With future worms and future flies The next ensuing year--and dies! Well were it for the world, if all Who creep about this earthly ball, Though shorter-lived than most he be, Were useful in their kind as he. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN DISPRAISE OF THE MOON by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE WHISPERS OF IMMORTALITY by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 18 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN VERSES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM OF A LADY'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK by THOMAS MOORE |