The spider holds a Silver Ball
In unperceived Hands--
And dancing softly to Himself
His Yarn of Pearl--unwinds--
He plies from Nought to Nought--
In unsubstantial Trade--
Supplants our Tapestries with His--
In half the period--
An Hour to rear supreme
His Continents of Light--
Then dangle from the Housewife's Broom--
His Boundaries--forgot--
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- The Wind Tapped Like A Tired Man,
- To Fight Aloud, Is Very Brave
- I Am Alive - I Guess
- Never For Society
- Safe In Their Alabaster Chambers,