Michael Villiers, Idealist And Other Poems. By E. H. Hickey |
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A DREAM OF SPINNING AND WEAVING
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 | Michael Villiers, Idealist |  |
180
A DREAM OF SPINNING AND WEAVING
A beautiful dream came once to me;
I set it down for thee and thee.
I set it down for thee and thee.
I wandered away from mist which spoke
Of a distant city's murk and smoke;
Of a distant city's murk and smoke;
To seek for linen clean and fair
(Such the king's daughter of old did wear),
(Such the king's daughter of old did wear),
So fair that my soul the search refused
Where the workers' hearts were broken and bruised,
Where the workers' hearts were broken and bruised,
Or shut away from the light of home
In the factory's noise and dust and gloom.
In the factory's noise and dust and gloom.
‘Is there never a place,’ said my heart to my heart,
‘Where labour and joy are not apart?
‘Where labour and joy are not apart?
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‘Where hand and brain delight can take
In true work done for true work's sake?’
In true work done for true work's sake?’
And I dreamt the good northcountry men
Said, ‘Here will ye find the white linen,
Said, ‘Here will ye find the white linen,
‘Made from the blue-flowered plant which grew
Fed by our English sun and dew.’
Fed by our English sun and dew.’
I would have my thread, I told them, spun
Where the light of the happy English sun
Where the light of the happy English sun
Through window or open door shines clear
On grandam, mother, or maiden dear.
On grandam, mother, or maiden dear.
I would have the thread spun strong and smooth
By the hands of age or the hands of youth;
By the hands of age or the hands of youth;
Which, it would matter not a whit,
So the women were glad a-spinning it;
So the women were glad a-spinning it;
So hand and foot the pleasure knew
Of work that is happiness to do;
Of work that is happiness to do;
That shuts not away from home and hearth,
And the sweetest joys of all the earth,
And the sweetest joys of all the earth,
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The girls should sing and the grandams croon
Dear words which go to familiar tune:
Dear words which go to familiar tune:
And the web should be woven by hands that know
To fling the shuttle to and fro,
To fling the shuttle to and fro,
Nor fear to pause with a smile, and say,
‘God give you, neighbour of mine, good-day;’
‘God give you, neighbour of mine, good-day;’
Nor fear to leave the loom alone
Before the golden day had gone.
Before the golden day had gone.
I would have the linen laid to bleach,
In sound of children's laugh and speech,
In sound of children's laugh and speech,
In the dear green fields around the home,
Where crisp breath of the wind should come;
Where crisp breath of the wind should come;
And the dew should fall at morn, at night,
And the sun shine down in his lovely might,
And the sun shine down in his lovely might,
Till white it grew and whiter still
As wind, dew, sun, should work their will.
As wind, dew, sun, should work their will.
The good linen should wear and last
When my time on earth were over and past;
When my time on earth were over and past;
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And win fair praises verily
In the good days coming by-and-by.
In the good days coming by-and-by.
And where should the spinning and weaving be?
Oh, where but in the north country,
Oh, where but in the north country,
Where Ruskin's feet tread wood and hill,
And Wordsworth's spirit broodeth still?
And Wordsworth's spirit broodeth still?
And, because in my dream it seemed I knew
That one was at work to make it true,
That one was at work to make it true,
Asleep or awake, my heart did say,
‘God bless you, Master Fleming, to-day!’
‘God bless you, Master Fleming, to-day!’
| Michael Villiers, Idealist | |