T. S. Eliot wondered if the spider, in a wilderness of mirrors, would suspend operations, and would the weevil delay.

The spider does not cease its toil
Nor weevil doth delay
The daily round of endless work
That won’t admit of play
But weevils have no mirrors and
The spider in the grass
Sees not the world as we do see
When we look in the glass
The mirror sees what we do not
Reflections are not real
We see but dimly in the dark
What only mirrors feel
The spider soon will cease its toil
The weevil slowed at last
The mirror tells of what’s to come
As well as what is past