我看见蜘蛛在空中穿行，在八月末那个发霉的日子里，从一棵树游到另一棵树，干草吱吱嘎嘎地运到谷仓。但是，在风是西风的地方，在粗糙的十一月，蜘蛛飞进了天空的幻影里，它们只为了安逸，急急地奔向东方的日出和大海而死;在伟大的上帝手中，我们算什么?你架起荆棘和蒺藜来对抗烈火，你的血液里还在燃烧着叛逆;因为野地的荆棘渐渐驯服，不能抵挡火焰;你的伤口说明你输了，你是在对抗一种无法治愈的疾病。手怎能强壮呢?心将如何承受?据说，一个很小的东西，一条小虫子，或是一只绣着沙漏的蜘蛛，都能杀死一只老虎。死人会举起他的镜子向四面八方证实他的权威的气息和闪光吗? It?s well If God who holds you to the pit of hell, Much as one holds a spider, will destroy, Baffle and dissipate your soul. As a small boy On Windsor Marsh, I saw the spider die When thrown into the bowels of fierce fire: There?s no long struggle, no desire To get up on its feet and fly It stretches out its feet And dies. This is the sinner?s last retreat; Yes, and no strength exerted on the heat Then sinews the abolished will, when sick And full of burning, it will whistle on a brick. But who can plumb the sinking of that soul? Josiah Hawley, picture yourself cast Into a brick-kiln where the blast Fans your quick vitals to a coal? If measured by a glass, How long would it seem burning! Let there pass A minute, ten, ten trillion; but the blaze Is infinite, eternal: this is death, To die and know it. This is the Black Widow, death.