A dext'rous spider chose
The delicate blossom of a garden rose
Whereon to plant and bind
The net he framed to take the insect kind.
And when his task was done
Proud of the cunning lines his art had spun,
He said, “I take my stand
Close by my work, and watch what I have planned.
And now, if heaven should bless
My labors with but moderate success,
No fly shall pass this way,
Nor gnat, but they shall fall an easy prey,”
He spoke, when from the sky
A strong wind swooped, and whirling, hurried by,
And far before the blast
Rose, leaf and web and plans and hopes were cast.