I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, br On a white heal-all, holding up a moth br Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth-- br Assorted characters of death and blight br Mixed ready to begin the morning right, br Like the ingredients of a witches' broth-- br A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, br And dead wings carried like a paper kite. br br What had that flower to do with being white, br The wayside blue and innocent heal-all? br What brought the kindred spider to that height, br Then steered the white moth thither in the night? br What but design of darkness to appall?-- br If design govern in a thing so small.