Whether speculation about the existence of God, a comparative review of Nazi Germany, or a mere exercise in irony, Frost's celebrated sonnet, aptly titled "Design", explores a relationship with scale, the symbolism of color, and the balance of form. Quite honestly, I hadn't thought about it since high school. And I figured it was time to return to his construction, some twenty-plus years later. So what do you think?
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth—
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth—
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?—
If design govern in a thing so small.