Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Mary AingeDe Vere

849 The Spinner

THE SPINNER twisted her slender thread

As she sat and spun:

“The earth and the heavens are mine,” she said,

“And the moon and sun;

Into my web the sunlight goes,

And the breath of May,

And the crimson life of the new-blown rose

That was born to-day.”

The spinner sang in the hush of noon

And her song was low:

“Ah, morning, you pass away too soon,

You are swift to go.

My heart o’erflows like a brimming cup

With its hopes and fears.

Love, come and drink the sweetness up

Ere it turn to tears.”

The spinner looked at the falling sun:

“Is it time to rest?

My hands are weary,—my work is done,

I have wrought my best;

I have spun and woven with patient eyes

And with fingers fleet.

Lo! where the toil of a lifetime lies

In a winding-sheet!”