Classic Poem

Those days I walked with pirate and glad thieves
Are somehow lost; there is no ogre now,
No crook-backed witch who croons the while she weaves,
Nor Spanish brigand with his knitted brow;
That merry devil's brood who seized their gold,
Hid treasure, plundered, strung their victims high,
Are shadows on a page — and I am old,
My ship is beached, its yellow bottom dry.
And yet there is one villain black and grim,
One bandit in the flesh who lays his snare
Before my eyes, and at his cruel whim
Leaps on his prey and kills — with what an air!
The spider, hairy-legged, still plies his trade,
Red-sashed he comes, between his teeth the blade!