 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
WORKMATES.
Face and figure of a maiden,
Set in memory's antique gold:
In the eyelids' droop, thought-laden,
In the dark hair's shining fold
Over the wide, blue-veined brow,
One I love is with me now.
Set in memory's antique gold:
In the eyelids' droop, thought-laden,
In the dark hair's shining fold
Over the wide, blue-veined brow,
One I love is with me now.
Side by side we work together,
'Mid the whirring of the wheels;
Side by side we wonder whether
Each the other's longing feels
To throw open her heart's door,
With a “Welcome, evermore!”
'Mid the whirring of the wheels;
Side by side we wonder whether
Each the other's longing feels
To throw open her heart's door,
With a “Welcome, evermore!”
Suddenly the seals are broken:
How it came, we cannot tell,—
Eyes have met, and lips have spoken:
We have known each other well,
Ages since, in some fair earth,
Playmates ere our mortal birth.
How it came, we cannot tell,—
Eyes have met, and lips have spoken:
We have known each other well,
Ages since, in some fair earth,
Playmates ere our mortal birth.
Noisy wheels break into singing,
Bird-like thoughts with thoughts ascend,
Into the free air upspringing:
Oh, the sweetness of a friend!
What if earth is cold and wide?
Here we two are, side by side.
Bird-like thoughts with thoughts ascend,
Into the free air upspringing:
Oh, the sweetness of a friend!
What if earth is cold and wide?
Here we two are, side by side.
230
Out into the summer gazing
From the windows of the mill,—
Running river, cattle grazing,
White clouds on the dark-blue hill:—
Did we murmur then, shut in
With a hundred girls, to spin?
From the windows of the mill,—
Running river, cattle grazing,
White clouds on the dark-blue hill:—
Did we murmur then, shut in
With a hundred girls, to spin?
No: for discontent were treason,
When the breath of all the flowers,
And the soul of the bright season
Entering, made their gladness ours.
Of the summer we were part;
Nature gave us her whole heart.
When the breath of all the flowers,
And the soul of the bright season
Entering, made their gladness ours.
Of the summer we were part;
Nature gave us her whole heart.
When the slow day dragged, we chanted,
Each to each, some holy hymn,
Till the sunset toward us slanted
As in old cathedrals dim,
Or a cloistered forest-aisle,
Wakening in us smile for smile.
Each to each, some holy hymn,
Till the sunset toward us slanted
As in old cathedrals dim,
Or a cloistered forest-aisle,
Wakening in us smile for smile.
Daily bread our hands were winning,—
Winning more than bread alone;
Unseen fingers, with us spinning,
Twined all life into our own,
Knit our being's fibres fast
Into unknown futures vast.
Winning more than bread alone;
Unseen fingers, with us spinning,
Twined all life into our own,
Knit our being's fibres fast
Into unknown futures vast.
And we touched the flying spindles,
As if so we struck a note
Unto which the whole world kindles;
Tidal harmonies, that float
Into chords on earth unheard—
Mystic chant of Work and Word.
As if so we struck a note
Unto which the whole world kindles;
Tidal harmonies, that float
Into chords on earth unheard—
Mystic chant of Work and Word.
Work! it thrilled new meanings through us
From creation's undersong;
Unto all great souls it drew us,
Men heroic, angels strong:
Firm our little thread spun we
For the web of Destiny.
From creation's undersong;
Unto all great souls it drew us,
Men heroic, angels strong:
Firm our little thread spun we
For the web of Destiny.
Time has led us onward slowly,
Oh, my low-browed maiden dear,
Into duties new and holy,
Widening labors, year by year:
Good it is for us, in sooth,
That we bore the yoke in youth.
Oh, my low-browed maiden dear,
Into duties new and holy,
Widening labors, year by year:
Good it is for us, in sooth,
That we bore the yoke in youth.
Good it is in the beginning
Toil for our true friend to know,
Place in God's grand purpose winning,
Deep into His life to grow;
Saying by our work, as He,
Unto light and order, “Be!”
Toil for our true friend to know,
Place in God's grand purpose winning,
Deep into His life to grow;
231
Unto light and order, “Be!”
Good and sweet the friendship given
To our girlish working-days,
Bond that death must leave unriven:
While we walk in parted ways,
Close the thought of you I hold,
Set in memory's antique gold.
To our girlish working-days,
Bond that death must leave unriven:
While we walk in parted ways,
Close the thought of you I hold,
Set in memory's antique gold.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |