 | English Roses |  |
SPINNING.
As I was spinning, a Blessed one said,
“Wherefore this trouble and toil?”
Life is an eddy of dust, to be laid
Soon with its clamour and coil.”
Then I made answer, “I know not, I feel
Only I ever must spin
Web that is mingled of iron and steel,
Woven in sorrow and sin;
Crimson with blood of my heart is the thread
Tangled by thorns of the strife,
Calling the dreams of the beautiful dead
Back to a lovelier life.”
“Wherefore this trouble and toil?”
Life is an eddy of dust, to be laid
Soon with its clamour and coil.”
Then I made answer, “I know not, I feel
Only I ever must spin
Web that is mingled of iron and steel,
Woven in sorrow and sin;
Crimson with blood of my heart is the thread
Tangled by thorns of the strife,
Calling the dreams of the beautiful dead
Back to a lovelier life.”
As I was spinning, a Child to me spake,
“Wherefore this labour and grief?
Life is but joy, and the roses awake
Bringing the balm of relief.”
So I responded, “I care not, I know
Merely I alway must spin
Web that is wedded to fire and the snow,
Fashioned in darkness and sin;
Here may be wedding robe, here may be shroud,
Growing on early and late,
Blessing or curse may come forth from the cloud—
Yet it is nothing but fate.”
“Wherefore this labour and grief?
Life is but joy, and the roses awake
Bringing the balm of relief.”
So I responded, “I care not, I know
Merely I alway must spin
Web that is wedded to fire and the snow,
Fashioned in darkness and sin;
Here may be wedding robe, here may be shroud,
Growing on early and late,
Blessing or curse may come forth from the cloud—
Yet it is nothing but fate.”
As I was spinning a Wanderer cried,
“Wherefore this passion and pain?
Life without change is unseen and untried,
Study and visions are vain.”
But I replied, “If I know not my doom,
Still I for ever must spin
Web that is painted of glory and gloom,
Pictured in sweetness and sin;
May be a body and may be a soul
Destiny bids me work out,
Bells ring for feastings or funerals toll,
I can delay not or doubt.”
“Wherefore this passion and pain?
Life without change is unseen and untried,
Study and visions are vain.”
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Still I for ever must spin
Web that is painted of glory and gloom,
Pictured in sweetness and sin;
May be a body and may be a soul
Destiny bids me work out,
Bells ring for feastings or funerals toll,
I can delay not or doubt.”
As I was spinning a Siren said this,
“Wherefore the leaves and no fruit?
Life is red rapture and bosom and kiss,
Amorous breath and pursuit.”
“Ah,” I did answer, “I know not the truth,
Save that I always must spin
Web that is knotted with ashes and youth,
Dabbled in dying and sin;
Mine may be heaven and mine may be hell,
Gladness or woe never gone,
Conqueror's crown or a prisoner's cell,
I sew in ignorance on.”
“Wherefore the leaves and no fruit?
Life is red rapture and bosom and kiss,
Amorous breath and pursuit.”
“Ah,” I did answer, “I know not the truth,
Save that I always must spin
Web that is knotted with ashes and youth,
Dabbled in dying and sin;
Mine may be heaven and mine may be hell,
Gladness or woe never gone,
Conqueror's crown or a prisoner's cell,
I sew in ignorance on.”
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