The web flew out and floated wide.
   Poor lady!  I was with her then.
She gathered up her piteous pride,
   But she could never weave again.

The mirror cracked from side to side;
   I saw its silver shadows go.
"The curse has come on me!" she cried.
   Poor lady!  I had told her so.

She was so proud: she would not hide.
   She only laughed and tried to sing.
But singing, in her song she died.
   She did not profit anything.