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...SEVEN TIMES ONE [- CHILDHOOD. EXULTATION] by JEAN INGELOW THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 101. THE ONE HOPE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A CHARACTER by ALFRED TENNYSON THE END OF IT by FRANCIS THOMPSON COMRADES by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY ON LYNN TERRACE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |