Summer

[...]

But chief to heedless flies the window proves

A constant death; where, gloomily retir'd,

The villain spider lives, cunning, and fierce.

Mixture abhorr'd! Amid a mangled heap

Of carcasses, in eager watch he sits,

O'erlooking all his waving snares around.

Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft

Passes, as oft the ruffian shows his front;

The prey at last ensnar'd, he dreadful darts,

With rapid glide, along the leaning line;

And, fixing in the wretch his cruel fangs,

Strikes backward grimly pleas'd: the fluttering wing,

And shriller sound declare extreme distress,

And ask the helping hospitable hand.

Resounds the living surface of the ground:

Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum,

To him who muses thro' the woods at noon;

Or drowsy shepherd, as he lies reclin'd,

With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade

Of willows grey, close-crouding o'er the brook.

[...]