 | The Triangular Society |  |
KNITTING-WORK.
I sing in praise of knitting-work—a good old-fashioned theme,
Unspoiled as yet by hackneyed phrase, or new-fledged poet's dream—
Neglected quite, and overlooked, in this progressive day
Of bead-work and embroidery, Macrame and crotchet.
Unspoiled as yet by hackneyed phrase, or new-fledged poet's dream—
Neglected quite, and overlooked, in this progressive day
Of bead-work and embroidery, Macrame and crotchet.
172
I grieve to know that young girls now despise the gentle art
Which played in ancient housewifery so prominent a part—
I grieve that flimsy fancy-work, of just no use at all,
Usurps the place once occupied by knitting-work and ball.
Which played in ancient housewifery so prominent a part—
I grieve that flimsy fancy-work, of just no use at all,
Usurps the place once occupied by knitting-work and ball.
Only some good old-fashioned dame, with wrinkled cheek and brow,
And kerchief pinned across her breast, like one I'm watching now,
With dress of old-time bombazine, and high-crowned muslin cap,
Dares flourish an incipient sock above her ancient lap.
And kerchief pinned across her breast, like one I'm watching now,
With dress of old-time bombazine, and high-crowned muslin cap,
Dares flourish an incipient sock above her ancient lap.
I mind me of my childish days—the vanished heretofore,
When I longed to spend the livelong day in playing out-of-door,
But, worshipping the practical, my mother made me sit
Demurely in my little chair beside her knee, and knit.
When I longed to spend the livelong day in playing out-of-door,
But, worshipping the practical, my mother made me sit
Demurely in my little chair beside her knee, and knit.
Knit, till the stated task was done—and then my work was hid
With eager joy and hurried hand, beneath my work-box lid—
And then how gladly forth I sped to join the childish throng,
With keener relish for my sport, because deferred so long!
With eager joy and hurried hand, beneath my work-box lid—
And then how gladly forth I sped to join the childish throng,
With keener relish for my sport, because deferred so long!
I mind me of the evenings since, in girlhood's happy age,
Which, knitting-work in hand, I 've passed above a favorite page—
I almost hear the tinkling sound of needles keeping time
To thrilling words of old romance, or poet's ringing rhyme!
Which, knitting-work in hand, I 've passed above a favorite page—
I almost hear the tinkling sound of needles keeping time
To thrilling words of old romance, or poet's ringing rhyme!
173
Once, knitting, thou wert tedious—but since riper years were mine,
I 've met with seamings every way more troublesome than thine—
Found more vexatious widenings—of care and weariness,
And other, sadder, narrowings—where hope grew less and less!
I 've met with seamings every way more troublesome than thine—
Found more vexatious widenings—of care and weariness,
And other, sadder, narrowings—where hope grew less and less!
A plea for thee, O knitting-work—a warm and earnest plea,
For years of gentle intercourse have knit my heart to thee,
And often when dim shapes of ill before me darkly rise,
I find a sweet nepenthe in thy simple mysteries.
For years of gentle intercourse have knit my heart to thee,
And often when dim shapes of ill before me darkly rise,
I find a sweet nepenthe in thy simple mysteries.
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