A WEAVER sat one day at his loom, Among the colors bright, With the pattern for his copying Hung fair and plain in sight. But the weaver's thoughts were wandering Away on a distant track, As he threw the shuttle in his hand Wearily forward and back. And he turned his dim eyes to the ground, And tears fell on the woof, For his thoughts, alas! were not with his home, Nor the wife beneath its roof; When her voice recalled him suddenly To himself, as she sadly said: "Ah! woe is me! for your work is spoiled, And what will we do for bread?" And then the weaver looked, and saw His work must be undone; For the threads were wrong, and the colors dimmed, Where the bitter tears had run. "Alack, alack!" said the weaver, "And this had all been right If I had not looked at my work, but kept The pattern in my sight!" Ah! sad it was for the weaver, And sad for his luckless wife: And sad will it be for us, if we say, At the end of our task of life: "The colors that we had to weave Were bright in our early years: But we wove the tissue wrong, and stained The woof with bitter tears. "We wove a web of doubt and fear -- Not faith, and hope, and love -- Because we looked at our work, and not At our Pattern up above!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: IN ABSENCE FROM BECCHINA by CECCO ANGIOLIERI DA SIENA TO THE STATES. TO IDENTIFY THE 16TH, 17TH, OR 18TH PRESIDENTIAD by WALT WHITMAN THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S PARTING WORDS by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS THE LAST MAN: SPEAKER'S MEANING DIMLY DESCRIBED by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE GUEST OF PHINEUS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |