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...THE LAST MAN by THOMAS CAMPBELL AUTUMN DAY by RAINER MARIA RILKE ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE GRAY MOOD by MARJORIE AKERMAN B. IN THE FOREST by ELINOR PETERSON ALLEN GOODS TRAIN AT NIGHT by KENNETH H. ASHLEY VERSES WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF AN OLD VISITATION COPY OF ARMS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |