Sonnet XIV. To the Spider by Thomas Russell

Ingenious insect, but of ruthless mould,
Whose savage craft (as nature taught) designs
A mazy web of death; the filmy lines
That form thy circling labyrinth enfold
Each thoughtless fly that wanders near the hold,
Sad victim of thy guile; nor aught avail
His silken wings nor coat of glossy mail
Nor varying hues of azure, jet or gold:
Yet, though thus ill the fluttering captive fares,
Whom heedless of the fraud thy toils trepan,
Thy tyrant fang that slays the stranger, spares
The bloody brothers of thy cruel clan;
While man against his fellows spreads his snares–
Then most delighted when his prey is man.

From: http://lit.genius.com/Thomas-russell-to-the-spider-annotated

Date: 1789

By: Thomas Russell (1762-1788)

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