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THE SPIDER.
  
  
  
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THE SPIDER.

I sat here at my table
And watched a spider grim
Who wove a web on the window pane,
And much I studied him—
A grey and speckled spider
Who from himself had spun

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An octagonal net with filmy threads
Between me and the sun.
Two strong though slender cables
At corners four were tied,
And one from top to bottom drawn,
And one from side to side;
With finer film he crossed them
With others here and there,
The lines and angles glistening
And quivering in the air.
There, in the centre sitting,
In wait the spider lay
And watched the flies that buzzed and flew
Around him all the day—
With covetous eyes and cruel,
That glittered with flash of steel
With every nerve to tension drawn
The slightest touch to feel.
And every day I watched him
While never a victim came,
No blood to draw, no limb to tear,
Expectant all the same;
But on this very morning
A victim came at last,
When a great blue-bottle struck the web
And he tied him firm and fast.
Now I am a sort of spider,
And in my office here,
A counsellor-at-law I've been
For two months over a year;

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And still within my network
I sit with hungry eyes,
Awaiting clients in the web—
And clients are but flies.
I've grown aweary, waiting
For the filaments to shake,
That on some testy litigant
My thirst for blood I'd slake;
And hopeless and despairing,
I thought, with inward moans,
That a man might earn a dollar a day
On the roadway breaking stones.
My soul accepts the lesson
Thus from the spider drawn,
And still within this dreary place
I'll bravely struggle on.
The patient are the gainers,
They lose who win too fast;
The vacant network may enmesh
The biggest fly at last.
Who raps so loud? “Come in!” I say;
“A peddler by his din.”
But no! a well-dressed countryman
Asks if “the lawyer's in.”
Farewell, my friend, the spider,
I'll see you bye and bye;
This is a client, sure as fate;
At last I've caught my fly.