As we rode the lean white highway through the dark, Hearing the motor-song, the heavy whisper of tires On concrete, and were lulled and put at peace Beneath the benevolent brooding stream of telephone wires, Suddenly we saw at the stony margin of the road A moving flash, as if thousands of turquoise fires. These were the eyes of spiders marching evenly -- A fragile tide advancing on brittle feet, Huddled for courage, unhaltingly paced to meet The fury of the night with equal wrath. And yet another headlight, hours from now, Will catch their glow but little farther down the path. Unthinking and savage race, aware of man, Stirred by the norther of his headlong flight, Stung by the quick dust from his flying wheels; Rejectful of his schemes, yet giving dumb salute As they turn unflinching jeweled eyes to his light -- A proud and bitter caravan they press together, Making their level way beside the road of stone, Far-flung across their mapless green abodes, Serving as dark a purpose of their own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER TWO YEARS by RICHARD ALDINGTON CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOON by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE CROSS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A PLANTATION BACCHANAL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON AT THE ZOO IN SPAIN by CLARENCE MAJOR MR. HOUSMAN'S MESSAGE by EZRA POUND |