Classic Poem

Upon a tuffet of most soft and verdant moss,
Beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak,
Miss Muffet sat, and upward gazed,
To where a linnet perched and sung,
And rocked him gently, to and fro.
Soft blew the breeze
And mildly swayed the bough,
Loud sung the bird,
And sweetly dreamed the maid;
Dreamed brightly of the days to come--
The golden days, with her fair future blent.
When one--some wondrous stately knight--
Of our great Arthur's "Table Round;"
One, brave as Launcelot, and
Spotless as the pure Sir Galahad,
Should come, and coming, choose her
For his love, and in her name,
And for the sake of her fair eyes,
Should do most knightly deeds.
And as she dreamed and softly sighed,
She pensively began to stir,
With a tiny golden spoon
Within an antique dish upon her lap,
Some snow-white milky curds;
Soft were they, full of cream and rich,
And floated in translucent whey;
And as she stirred, she smiled,
Then gently tasted them.
And smiling, ate, nor sighed no more.
Lo! as she ate--nor harbored thought of ill--
Nearer and nearer yet, there to her crept,
A monster great and terrible,
With huge, misshapen body--leaden eyes--
Full many a long and hairy leg,
And soft and stealthy footstep.
Nearer still he came--Miss Muffet yet,
And unwitting his dread neighborhood,
Did eat her curds and dream.
Blithe, on the bough, the linnet sung--
All terrestrial natures, sleeping, wrapt
In a most sweet tranquillity.
Closer still the spider drew, and--
Paused beside her--lifted up his head
And gazed into her face.
Miss Muffet then, her consciousness alive
To his dread eyes upon her fixed,
Turned and beheld him.
Loud screamed she, frightened and amazed,
And straightway sprung upon her feet,
And, letting fall her dish and spoon,
She--shrieking--turned and fled.