ONCE when morn was flowing in, Broader, redder, wider, In her house with walls so thin That they could not hide her, Just as she would never spin, Sat a little spider -- Sat she on her silver stairs, Meek as if she said her prayers. Came a fly, whose wings had been Making circles wider, Having but the buzz and din Of herself to guide her. Nearer to these walls so thin, Nearer to the spider, Sitting on her silver stairs, Meek as if she said her prayers. Said the silly fly, "Too long Malice has belied her; How should she do any wrong, With no walls to hide her?" So she buzzed her pretty song To the wily spider, Sitting on her silver stairs Meek as though she said her prayers. But in spite her modest mien, Had the fly but eyed her Close enough, she would have seen Fame had not belied her -- That, as she had always been, She was still a spider; And that she was not at prayers, Sitting on her silver stairs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOT TRANSHISTORICAL DEATH, OR AT LEAST NOT QUITE by HAYDEN CARRUTH HERO-WORSHIP; SONNET by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALFRED MOIR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELIZABETH CHILDERS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |