Author Emily Dickinson A spider sewed at nightWithout a lightUpon an arc of white.If ruff it was of dameOr shroud of gnome,Himself, himself inform.Of immortalityHis strategyWas physiognomy. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments