  HOW, as a spider’s web is spun With subtle grace and art, Do thy light footsteps, every one, Cross and recross my heart! Now here, now there, and to and fro, Their winding mazes turn; Thy fairy feet so lightly go They seem the earth to spurn. Yet every step leaves there behind A something, when you dance, That serves to tangle up my mind And all my soul entrance. How, as the web the spiders spin And wanton breezes blow, Thy soft and filmy laces in A swirl around thee flow! The cobweb ’neath thy chin that’s crossed Remains demurely put, While those are ever whirled and tossed That show thy saucy foot: Thy stocking’s silken sheen, And mesh of snowy skirts above The silver that is seen. How, as the spider from his web Dangles in light suspense, Do thy sweet measures’ flow and ebb Sway my enraptured sense! Thy flutt’ring lace, thy dainty airs, Thy every charming pose— There are not more alluring snares To bind me with than those. Swing on! Sway on! With easy grace Thy witching steps repeat! The love I dare not—to thy face— I offer at thy feet. |
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