Classic Poem

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The traces of a dry, dead leaf
Were left in lines upon its cone;
The record of its history brief,
A spring and summer come and gone.

Within a small, snug nook it lay,
Nor rain nor snow could reach it there;
Nor wind was felt in gusty day,
Nor biting cold of frosty air.

But spring returned; its mild, warm breath
Was felt within the sleeper's cell;
And waking from its trance of death,
I saw it crawl from out its shell.

And starting where they lay beneath,
Were eyelet wings spread one by one;
Each perfected as from a sheath,
And shining in the morning sun.

Slow and with pain it first moved on,
And of the dust still seemed to be;
An hour passed by; the worm was gone;—
It soared on golden pinions free!