I SAW a worm, with many a fold;
It spun itself a sliken 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 he first moved on,
And of the day he seemed to be;
A day passed by; the worm was gone,
It soared on golden pinions free!
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Comments about this poem (Psyche by Jones Very )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Winter Solstice, Jacqueline C Nash
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
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- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- The Listeners, Walter de la Mare
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