Which leaves of baneful aconite produce. Touch'd with the pois'nous drug, her flowing hair Fell to the ground, and left her temples bare; Her usual features vanish'd from their place, Her body lessen'd all, but most her face. Her slender fingers, hanging on each side With many joynts, the use of legs supply'd: A spider's bag the rest, from which she gives A thread, and still by constant weaving lives. |