I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day. In latter August when the hay. Came creaking to the barn. But where. The wind is westerly, Where gnarled November makes the spiders fly. Into the apparitions of the sky, They purpose nothing but their ease and die. Urgently beating east to sunrise and the sea;
Theme Words Related authors
Biography
Profession:
Poet
Nationality:
American
Born:
March 1, 1917
Died:
September 12, 1977