THIS silkworm, to long sleep retir'd, The early year hath re-inspir'd, Who now to pay to thee prepares The tribute of her pleasing cares; And hastens with industrious toil To make thy ornament, her spoil: See with what pains she spins for thee The thread of her own destiny; Then growing proud in Death, to know That all her curious labours thou Wilt, as in triumph, deign to wear, Retires to her soft sepulchre. Such, dearest, is that hapless state, To which I am design'd by Fate, Who by thee, willingly, o'ercome, Work mine own fetters and my tomb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF THE MOON by CLAUDE MCKAY A TOWN WINDOW by JOHN DRINKWATER MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG: HER DEATH by THOMAS HOOD TO A BLOCKHEAD by ALEXANDER POPE RIDDLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD DARTMOUTH by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HIS NAME WAS KEKO by THEODORE BRIDGMAN |