 | Poems of home and country |  |
THE LITTLE WEAVER.
I am a little weaver, and pleasant are my days;
My little wheel keeps whirling, and round me kitty plays.
My life so calm and happy, so bright and active is,
There is no joy I wish for to crown my cup of bliss.
My little wheel keeps whirling, and round me kitty plays.
My life so calm and happy, so bright and active is,
There is no joy I wish for to crown my cup of bliss.
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My songs are never silent but in the peaceful night;
I always rise to labor when day is growing light;
But though I am so busy, I'm sure I do not care;
They rather should be pitied, who always idle are.
I always rise to labor when day is growing light;
But though I am so busy, I'm sure I do not care;
They rather should be pitied, who always idle are.
And while my wheel keeps whirling, the hours they seem not long;
I feel all day so happy, so lively is my song.
My work, it never wearies, but gives me health, you see;
And I am always cheerful,—oh, don't you envy me?
I feel all day so happy, so lively is my song.
My work, it never wearies, but gives me health, you see;
And I am always cheerful,—oh, don't you envy me?
I care not for the dainties and all the fancy things,
Which from beyond the ocean the rich man's vessel brings;
My turnips and potatoes I am content to eat;
Nor will I ever murmur for want of food more sweet.
Which from beyond the ocean the rich man's vessel brings;
My turnips and potatoes I am content to eat;
Nor will I ever murmur for want of food more sweet.
| Poems of home and country | |