And again and again, and again and again

And again and again, and again and again He sought and he sought, but all in vain, Till he must have looked for a year and a day For the early worm, in the twilight gray.

At last in despair he gave up the search, And was heard to remark, as he sat on his perch By the side of his nest in the hollow tree, “The thing is as plain as night to me— Nothing can shake my conviction firm, There’s no such thing as the early worm.”