 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
203
WEAVING THE WEB
“This morn I will weave my web,” she said,
As she stood by her loom in the rosy light,
And her young eyes, hopefully glad and clear,
Followed afar the swallow's flight.
“As soon as the day's first tasks are done,
While yet I am fresh and strong,” said she,
“I will hasten to weave the beautiful web
Whose pattern is known to none but me!
As she stood by her loom in the rosy light,
And her young eyes, hopefully glad and clear,
Followed afar the swallow's flight.
“As soon as the day's first tasks are done,
While yet I am fresh and strong,” said she,
“I will hasten to weave the beautiful web
Whose pattern is known to none but me!
“I will weave it fine, I will weave it fair,
And ah! how the colors will glow!” she said;
“So fadeless and strong will I weave my web
That perhaps it will live after I am dead.”
But the morning hours sped on apace;
The air grew sweet with the breath of June;
And young Love hid by the waiting loom,
Tangling the threads as he hummed a tune.
And ah! how the colors will glow!” she said;
“So fadeless and strong will I weave my web
That perhaps it will live after I am dead.”
But the morning hours sped on apace;
The air grew sweet with the breath of June;
And young Love hid by the waiting loom,
Tangling the threads as he hummed a tune.
“Ah, life is so rich and full!” she cried,
“And morn is short though the days are long!
This noon I will weave my beautiful web,
I will weave it carefully, fine and strong.”
But the sun rode high in the cloudless sky;
The burden and heat of the day she bore
And hither and thither she came and went,
While the loom stood still as it stood before.
“And morn is short though the days are long!
This noon I will weave my beautiful web,
I will weave it carefully, fine and strong.”
But the sun rode high in the cloudless sky;
The burden and heat of the day she bore
And hither and thither she came and went,
While the loom stood still as it stood before.
204
“Ah! life is too busy at noon,” she said;
“My web must wait till the eventide,
Till the common work of the day is done,
And my heart grows calm in the silence wide.”
So, one by one, the hours passed on
Till the creeping shadows had longer grown;
Till the house was still, and the breezes slept,
And her singing birds to their nests had flown.
“My web must wait till the eventide,
Till the common work of the day is done,
And my heart grows calm in the silence wide.”
So, one by one, the hours passed on
Till the creeping shadows had longer grown;
Till the house was still, and the breezes slept,
And her singing birds to their nests had flown.
“And now I will weave my web,” she said,
As she turned to her loom ere set of sun,
And laid her hand on the shining threads
To set them in order one by one.
But hand was tired, and heart was weak:
“I am not as strong as I was,” sighed she,
“And the pattern is blurred, and the colors rare
Are not so bright, or so fair to see!
As she turned to her loom ere set of sun,
And laid her hand on the shining threads
To set them in order one by one.
But hand was tired, and heart was weak:
“I am not as strong as I was,” sighed she,
“And the pattern is blurred, and the colors rare
Are not so bright, or so fair to see!
“I must wait, I think, till another morn;
I must go to my rest with my work undone;
It is growing too dark to weave!” she cried,
As lower and lower sank the sun.
She dropped the shuttle; the loom stood still;
The weaver slept in the twilight gray.
Dear heart! Will she weave her beautiful web
In the golden light of a longer day?
I must go to my rest with my work undone;
It is growing too dark to weave!” she cried,
As lower and lower sank the sun.
She dropped the shuttle; the loom stood still;
The weaver slept in the twilight gray.
Dear heart! Will she weave her beautiful web
In the golden light of a longer day?
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |