| I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, | |
| On a white heal-all, holding up a moth | |
| Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth-- | |
| Assorted characters of death and blight | |
| Mixed ready to begin the morning right, | 5 |
| Like the ingredients of a witches' broth-- | |
| A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, | |
| And dead wings carried like a paper kite. | |
| |
| What had that flower to do with being white, | |
| The wayside blue and innocent heal-all? | 10 |
| What brought the kindred spider to that height, | |
| Then steered the white moth thither in the night? | |
| What but design of darkness to appall?-- | |
| If design govern in a thing so small. | |