I KNOW a weaver and his wife, And he is fair, and she is dark -- That breeds no strife Within their peaceful ark. The fairest man in all our town Is he, light-flaxen, with a @3plus@1 Of marigold; her brown Is brown of Stradivarius. She keeps the humblest kind of shop, Sells "goodies" to the little ones, The knob, the drop Acidulous; he runs The timely threads, the boding tints He summons in accordant row; Babes buying peppermints Observe the gath'ring purpose grow. Hums the dull loom; I enter; pauses The shopping, and the weaving. Straight Her loud "O Lawses!" Proclaim me designate The erst beloved. I feel the dribble Of fire volcanic in my soul Long quenched -- @3Cumaean Sibyl?@1 Nay, but the Delphic aureole! @3Wrinkled and wizen?@1 Every line Is furrowed with sweet longings; flames Disused entwine Our hearts; the once dear names, The ties no fateful force can sunder, Recur. Unthought occasion wiles Our lips; the children wonder, I hesitate, the weaver smiles. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOON by HAYDEN CARRUTH POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RICHARD BONE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS REMBRANDT TO REMBRANDT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |