... with Spinoza in her hand, Was once heard murmuring to the insect crew, “I will not harm you, little restless band! For what are mortal men but worms, like you?” The trees are gone; Dame Craigie too is gone, Her tongue long silent, and her turban furled; Yet 'neath her roof thought's silk-worms still spun on, Whose sumptuous fabric clothed a barren world.