Home ⇒ 📌Eliza Cook ⇒ Song of the Worm
Song of the Worm
THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain
In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ;
The charnel-grounds widen, to me they belong,
With the vaults of the sepulchre, sculptured and strong.
The tower of ages in fragments is laid,
Moss grows on the stones, and I lurk in its shade ;
And the hand of the giant and heart of the brave
Must turn weak and submit to the worm and the grave.
Daughters of earth, if I happen to meet
Your bloom-plucking fingers and sod-treading feet
Oh! turn not away with the shriek of disgust
From the thing you must mate with in darkness and dust.
Your eyes may be flashing in pleasure and pride,
‘Neath the crown of a Queen or the wreath of a bride ;
Your lips may be fresh and your cheeks may be fair
Let a few years pass over, and I shall be there.
Cities of splendour, where palace and gate,
Where the marble of strength and the purple of state ;
Where the mart and arena, the olive and vine,
Once flourished in glory ; oh! are ye not mine?
Go look for famed Carthage, and I shall be found
In the desolate ruin and weed-covered mound ;
And the slime of my trailing discovers my home,
‘Mid the pillars of Tyre and the temples of Rome.
I am sacredly sheltered and daintily fed
Where the velvet bedecks, and the white lawn is spread ;
I may feast undisturbed, I may dwell and carouse
On the sweetest of lips and the smoothest of brows.
The voice of the sexton, the chink of the spade,
Sound merrily under the willow’s dank shade.
They are carnival notes, and I travel with glee
To learn what the churchyard has given to me.
Oh! the worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain,
For where monarchs are voiceless I revel and reign ;
I delve at my ease and regale where I may ;
None dispute with the worm in his will or his way.
The high and the bright for my feasting must fall
Youth, Beauty, and Manhood, I prey on ye all :
The Prince and the peasant, the despot and slave ;
All, all must bow down to the worm and the grave.
(1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)Related poetry:
- Worm Either Way If you live along with all the other people And are just like them, and conform, and are nice You’re just a worm And if you live with all the other people And you don’t like them and won’t be like them and won’t conform Then you’re just the worm that has turned, In either […]...
- The Ballad Of The Ice-Worm Cocktail To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames. A pane of glass was in his eye, and stockings on his stems. Upon the shoulder of his coat a leather pad he wore, To rest his deadly rifle when it wasn’t seeking gore; The which it must have often been, for Major Percy […]...
- The Conqueror Worm Lo! ’tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years. An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre to see A play of hopes and fears While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, […]...
- A Pict Song Rome never looks where she treads. Always her heavy hooves fall On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads; And Rome never heeds when we bawl. Her sentries pass on that is all, And we gather behind them in hordes, And plot to reconquer the Wall, With only our tongues for our swords. We are […]...
- 431. Song-Robert Bruce's March to Bannockburn SCOTS, wha hae wi’ WALLACE bled, Scots, wham BRUCE has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to Victorie! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour; See the front o’ battle lour; See approach proud EDWARD’S power- Chains and Slaverie! Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward’s grave? Wha sae […]...
- 437. Song-Thine am I, my faithful Fair THINE am I, my faithful Fair, Thine, my lovely Nancy; Ev’ry pulse along my veins, Ev’ry roving fancy. To thy bosom lay my heart, There to throb and languish; Tho’ despair had wrung its core, That would heal its anguish. Take away those rosy lips, Rich with balmy treasure; Turn away thine eyes of love, […]...
- 532. Song-Their groves o' sweet myrtle THEIR groves o’ sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan, Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowèrs Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen; For there, lightly tripping, […]...
- Secretary My Master is a man of might With manners like a hog; He makes me slave from morn to night And treats me like a dog. He thinks there’s nothing on this earth His money cannot buy, And claims to get full wages worth From hirelings such as I. But does he? Though a Man […]...
- Ad Quintilianum O CHIEF director of the growing race, Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace, Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive Before from labour I make haste to live? Some burn to gather wealth, lay hands on rule, Or with white statues fill the atrium full. The talking hearth, the rafters sweet with […]...
- The Song of the Pilgrims (Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.) What light of unremembered skies Hast thou relumed within our eyes, Thou whom we seek, whom we shall find? . . . A certain odour on the wind, Thy hidden face beyond the west, These things have called us; on a […]...
- 384. Song-Highland Mary YE banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o’ Montgomery! Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie: There Simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last Farewell O’ my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom’d the gay, green birk, How rich […]...
- Dream Song 84: Op. posth. no. 7 Plop, plop. The lobster toppled in the pot, Fulfilling, dislike man, his destiny, Glowing fire-red, Succulent, and on the whole becoming what Man wants. I crack my final claw singly, Wind up the grave, & to bed. €”Sound good, Mr Bones. I wish I had me some. (I spose you got a lessen up your […]...
- A British-Roman Song (A. D. 406) “A Centurion of the Thirtieth” Puck of Pook’s Hill My father’s father saw it not, And I, belike, shall never come To look on that so-holly spot That very Rome Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might, The equal work of Gods and Man, City beneath whose oldest height The Race […]...
- Song: Eternity of Love Protested How ill doth he deserve a lover’s name, Whose pale weak flame Cannot retain His heat, in spite of absence or disdain; But doth at once, like paper set on fire, Burn and expire; True love can never change his seat, Nor did her ever love, that could retreat. That noble flame which my breast […]...
- 82. Song-Kissing my Katie O MERRY hae I been teethin’ a heckle, An’ merry hae I been shapin’ a spoon; O merry hae I been cloutin’ a kettle, An’ kissin’ my Katie when a’ was done. O a’ the lang day I ca’ at my hammer, An’ a’ the lang day I whistle and sing; O a’ the lang […]...
- 81. Song-For a' that THO’ 1 women’s minds, like winter winds, May shift, and turn, an’ a’ that, The noblest breast adores them maist- A consequence I draw that. Chorus For a’ that, an’ a’ that, And twice as meikle’s a’ that; The bonie lass that I loe best She’ll be my ain for a’ that. Great love I […]...
- To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the N Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fire, Ilion falling, Rome arising, Wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s pyre; Landscape-lover, lord of language More than he that sang the “Works and Days,” All the chosen coin of fancy Flashing out from many a golden phrase; Thou that singest wheat and woodland, Tilth […]...
- 14. Song-Mary Morison O MARY, at thy window be, It is the wish’d, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser’s treasure poor: How blythely was I bide the stour, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison. Yestreen, when to the trembling […]...
- The Song Of Princess Zeb-Un-Nissa In Praise Of Her Own Beauty WHEN from my cheek I lift my veil, The roses turn with envy pale, And from their pierced hearts, rich with pain, Send forth their fragrance like a wail. Or if perchance one perfumed tress Be lowered to the wind’s caress, The honeyed hyacinths complain, And languish in a sweet distress. And, when I pause, […]...
- Idylls Of The King: Song From The Marriage Of Geraint Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud; Turn thy wild wheel thro’ sunshine, storm, and cloud; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown; With that wild wheel we go not up or down; Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. […]...
- To Virgil Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil’s Death Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fire, Ilion falling, Rome arising, Wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s pyre; Landscape-lover, lord of language More than he that sang the Works and Days, All the chosen coin of fancy […]...
- A Coffin is a small Domain A Coffin is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave is a restricted Breadth Yet ampler than the Sun And all the Seas He populates And Lands He looks upon To Him who on its small Repose Bestows a single Friend Circumference without Relief Or […]...
- The Death of Lincoln Oh, slow to smit and swift to spare, Gentle and merciful and just! Who, in the fear of God, didst bear The sword of power, a nation’s trust! In sorrow by thy bier we stand, Amid the awe that hushes all, And speak the anguish of a land That shook with horror at thy fall. […]...
- Macdonough's Song “As easy as A B C” A Diversity of Creatures” Whether the State can loose and bind In Heaven as well as on Earth: If it be wiser to kill mankind Before or after the birth These are matters of high concern Where State-kept schoolmen are; But Holy State (we have lived to learn) Endeth […]...
- The Chambermaid's First Song How came this ranger Now sunk in rest, Stranger with strangcr. On my cold breast? What’s left to Sigh for? Strange night has come; God’s love has hidden him Out of all harm, Pleasure has made him Weak as a worm....
- The Ruins Of Time (Quevedo, Mire los muros de la partia mia and Buscas en Roma a Roma, (!)O peregrino!) I I saw the musty shingles of my house, Raw wood and fixed once, now a wash of moss Eroded by the ruin of age Furning all fair and green things into waste. I climbed the pasture. I saw […]...
- It was given to me by the Gods It was given to me by the Gods When I was a little Girl They given us Presents most you know When we are new and small. I kept it in my Hand I never put it down I did not dare to eat or sleep For fear it would be gone I heard such […]...
- Of Death & Resurrection Like to the rowling of an eye, Or like a starre shott from the skye, Or like a hand upon a clock, Or like a wave upon a rock, Or like a winde, or like a flame, Or like false newes which people frame, Even such is man, of equall stay, Whose very growth leades […]...
- 364. Song-I do confess thou art sae fair I DO confess thou art sae fair, I was been o’er the lugs in luve, Had I na found the slightest prayer That lips could speak thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou art so thriftless o’ thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it […]...
- The Irish Peasant to his Mistress Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer’d my way, Till hope seem’d to bud from each thorn that round me lay; The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn’d, Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn’d; Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, […]...
- From One Augur to Another So, Calchas, on the sacred Palatine, You thought of Mopsus, and o’er wastes of sea A flower brought your message. I divine (Through my deep art) the kindly mockery That played about your lips and in your eyes, Plucking the frail leaf, while you dreamed of home. Thanks for the silent greeting! I shall prize, […]...
- 198. Song-Braving Angry Winer's Storms WHERE, braving angry winter’s storms, The lofty Ochils rise, Far in their shade my Peggy’s charms First blest my wondering eyes; As one who by some savage stream A lonely gem surveys, Astonish’d, doubly marks it beam With art’s most polish’d blaze. Blest be the wild, sequester’d shade, And blest the day and hour, Where […]...
- Song VII: Dawn Talks to Day Dawn talks to Day Over dew-gleaming flowers, Night flies away Till the resting of hours: Fresh are thy feet And with dreams thine eyes glistening, Thy still lips are sweet Though the world is a-listening. O Love, set a word in my mouth for our meeting, Cast thine arms round about me to stay my […]...
- Lively Hope and Gracious Fear I was a grovelling creature once, And basely cleaved to earth: I wanted spirit to renounce The clod that gave me birth. But God hath breathed upon a worm, And sent me from above Wings such as clothe an angel’s form, The wings of joy and love. With these to Pisgah’s top I fly And […]...
- Song The linnet in the rocky dells, The moor – lark in the air, The bee among the heather – bells That hide my lady fair: The wild deer browse above her breast; The wild birds raise their brood; And they, her smiles of love caressed, Have left their solitude! I ween, that when the grave’s […]...
- The Grave Of Keats Rid of the world’s injustice, and his pain, He rests at last beneath God’s veil of blue: Taken from life when life and love were new The youngest of the martyrs here is lain, Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain. No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew, But gentle violets weeping with the […]...
- Song of Innisfail They came from a land beyond the sea, And now o’er the western main Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly, From the sunny land of Spain. “Oh, where’s the isle we’ve seen in dreams, Our destined home or grave?” Thus sung they as, by the morning’s beams, They swept the Atlantic wave. And lo, […]...
- High in the air exposed High in the air exposed the slave is hung, To all the birds of heaven, their living food! He groans not, though awaked by that fierce sun New torturers live to drink their parent blood; He groans not, though the gorging vulture tear The quivering fiber. Hither look, O ye Who tore this man from […]...
- Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet VI High in the air expos’d the Slave is hung To all the birds of Heaven, their living food! He groans not, tho’ awaked by that fierce Sun New torturers live to drink their parent blood! He groans not, tho’ the gorging Vulture tear The quivering fibre! hither gaze O ye Who tore this Man from […]...
- In Memoriam Paul Celan Lay these words into the dead man’s grave Next to the almonds and black cherries – Tiny skulls and flowering blood-drops, eyes, And Thou, O bitterness that pillows his head. Lay these words on the dead man’s eyelids Like eyebrights, like medieval trumpet flowers That will flourish, this time, in the shade. Let the beheaded […]...