Design

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,

On a white heal-all, holding up a

Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth —Assorted characters of death and

Mixed ready to begin the morning right,

Like the ingredients of a witches' broth —A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,

And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,

The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?

What brought the kindred spider to that height,

Then steered the white moth thither in the night?

What but design of darkness to appall?—If design govern in a thing so small.

Originally written in 1912 and titled In White.