For years within a mud-built room For Arva's shrine he weaves the shawl, Lone wight, and at a lonely loom, His busy shadow on the wall. The face is pinched, the form is bent, No pastime knows he nor the wine, Recluse he lives and abstinent Who weaves for Arva's shrine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN FANCIES: 1. THE FLOWER'S NAME by ROBERT BROWNING THE GRASSHOPPER; TO MY NOBLE FRIEND MR. CHARLES COTTON by RICHARD LOVELACE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 129 by ALFRED TENNYSON SONNET TO LIBERTY by OSCAR WILDE EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 12. LIFE FOR LOVE by PHILIP AYRES THE INNOCENT MAGICIAN; OR, A CHARM AGAINST LOVE by PHILIP AYRES |