Emily Dickinson — The Spider holds a Silver Ball

The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands-- And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl--unwinds-- He plies from Nought to Nought-- In unsubstantial Trade-- Supplants our Tapestries with His-- In half the period-- An Hour to rear supreme His Continents of Light-- Then dangle from the Housewife's Broom-- His Boundaries--forgot--