J. C. Squire, ed. A Book of Women’s Verse. 1921.
By Rose Terry Cooke (18271892)Arachne
I
As, restless, bold, and unafraid,
She slips and floats along the air
Till all her subtile house is made.
All from that hidden store she draws;
She fashions it and knows it good,
By instinct’s strong and sacred laws.
She seeks and gathers there or here,
But spins it from her faithful breast,
Renewing still, till leaves are sere.
In vain her shining traps are set.
The frost hath hushed the insect strife
And gilded flies her charm forget.
She sways to every wintry wind:
Her joy, her toil, her errand done,
Her corse the sport of storms unkind.
I too from out my store within
My daily life and living plan,
My home, my rest, my pleasure spin.
Sweep all that hard-earned web away,
Destroy its pearled and glittering bands,
And leave thee homeless by the way.
Each anchored thread, each tiny knot,
Soft shining in the autumn sun;
A sheltered, silent, tranquil lot.
Sad presage to a soul allowed—
That not for life I spin, alone,
But day by day I spin my shroud.