The spider hanging her gauzy curtain.
The Pauper falls on the dusty floor,
And there rings in his failing ear once more
A voice as it might be from the dead,
And says, as it long ago hath said:
O Rob, I have a word to say—a cruel word—to you:
I can not longer live a lie—the truth for air is calling!
I can not keep the secret locked that long has been your due,
Not if you strike me to the ground, and spurn me in my falling!
He came to me when first a cloud across your smile was creeping—