Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/108



“ bless the work,” said young Kathleen, She bent her golden head, And in her cheek that was so pale The blood crept rosy red.

Quick flew the humming spinning-wheel, The thread was all but done, And like the pale shafts of a star The gleaming strands she spun.

“And when the cloth is mine”—she smiled. The wheel sang soft and low— “I'll make a robe all straight and white, That I a bride may go.”

“The world is good,” she said, and laughed, A-turning of her wheel. Then by her stood a beggar maid, Who prayed with faint appeal.

“I have not gold,” sighed sweet Kathleen, “Nor silver you to give. Yet if you go so pale and wan I fear you scarce can live.”

“So take my thread, 'twill weave a gown To keep you from the cold.” The beggar kissed the giving hand. And blessed a hundred-fold.