The Silk-Worm’s Will

On a plain rush-hurdle a silk-worm lay,

When a proud young princess came that way.

The haughty child of a human king

Threw a sidelong glance at the humble thing,

That received with a silent gratitude

From the mulberry-leaf her simple food;

And shrunk, half scorn, and half disgust,

Away from her sister child of the dust;

Declaring she never yet could see

Why a reptile form like this should be;—

And that she was not made with nerves so firm,

As calmly to stand by a crawling worm!

With mute forbearance the silk-worm took

The taunting words and the spurning look.

Alike a stranger to self and pride,

She’d no disquiet from aught beside;

And lived of a meekness and peace possest

Which these debar from the human breast.

She only wished, for the harsh abuse,

To find some way to become of use

To the haughty daughter of lordly man;

And thus did she lay her noble plan

To teach her wisdom, and make it plain

That the humble worm was not made in vain;—

A plan so generous, deep and high,

That to carry it out, she must even die!

“No more,” said she, “will I drink or eat!

I’ll spin and weave me a winding-sheet,

To wrap me up from the sun’s clear light,

And hide my form from her wounded sight.

In secret then, till my end draws nigh,

I will toil for her; and when I die,

I’ll leave behind, as a farewell boon

To the proud young princess, my whole cocoon,

To be reeled, and wove to a shining lace,

And hung in a veil o’er her scornful face!

And when she can calmly draw her breath

Through the very threads that have caused my death;

“When she finds at length, she has nerves so firm,

As to wear the shroud of a crawling worm,

May she bear in mind that she walks with pride

In the winding-sheet where the silk-worm died!”