Page:Hand in hand; (IA handinhand00kipl).pdf/74



SKILFUL weaver in the days of old Designed a fabric for a king to wear; And gathered to him costliest and rare Tyrian-empurpled silks, and burnished gold, That warp and woof might glitter manifold With colours like the rainbow-tinted air. And then misfortune gripped him unaware, And all the treasure-store for bread was sold.

I sell the glorious fancies of my dreams, My hope, my faith, the love I won and gave, And dull bare life, wherein no glory gleams, Is all that I have now the power to save: A weary toiler at ignoble themes. Dead Weaver, can you pity from your grave?