| |
| I WATCH her in the corner there, | |
| As, restless, bold, and unafraid, | |
| She slips and floats along the air | |
| Till all her subtile house is made. | |
| |
| Her home, her bed, her daily food, | 5 |
| All from that hidden store she draws; | |
| She fashions it and knows it good, | |
| By instinct’s strong and sacred laws. | |
| |
| No tenuous threads to weave her nest, | |
| She seeks and gathers there or here, | 10 |
| But spins it from her faithful breast, | |
| Renewing still, till leaves are sere. | |
| |
| Then, worn with toil and tired of life, | |
| In vain her shining traps are set. | |
| The frost hath hushed the insect strife | 15 |
| And gilded flies her charm forget. | |
| |
| But swinging in the snares she spins, | |
| She sways to every wintry wind: | |
| Her joy, her toil, her errand done, | |
| Her corse the sport of storms unkind. | 20 |
| |
| Poor sister of the spinster clan, | |
| I too from out my store within | |
| My daily life and living plan, | |
| My home, my rest, my pleasure spin. | |
| |
| I know thy heart when heartless hands | 25 |
| Sweep all that hard-earned web away, | |
| Destroy its pearled and glittering bands, | |
| And leave thee homeless by the way. | |
| |
| I know thy peace when all is done, | |
| Each anchored thread, each tiny knot, | 30 |
| Soft shining in the autumn sun; | |
| A sheltered, silent, tranquil lot. | |
| |
| I know what thou hast never known,— | |
| Sad presage to a soul allowed— | |
| That not for life I spin, alone, | 35 |
| But day by day I spin my shroud. | |
| |
