THAT day she seized me like a bee, To make me her weak blossom, I felt her arms so strong that I Lay helpless on her bosom. But cunning I, by artful moves, Soon had her in my power: "Ah, Molly, who's the strong bee now -- And who's the poor weak flower?" That time she thought I was a fly, And she a great big spider, She held me fast, my breath was gone, As I lay bound beside her. But cunning I, by artful moves, Could laugh at last and cry: "Ah, Molly, who's the spider now -- And who's the poor weak fly?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EXTRACTS FROM AN OPERA: 2. DAISY'S SONG by JOHN KEATS EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: THE COWARD by RUDYARD KIPLING THE ARMADA; A FRAGMENT by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY BITTERNESS by VICTORIA MARY SACKVILLE-WEST FESTE'S SONG (1), FR. TWELFTH NIGHT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SONNET: 87 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |