As I calmly sat and span,Toiling with all zeal, Lo! a young and handsome manPass'd my spinning-wheel.
And he praised,--what harm was there?--
Sweet the things he said--
Praised my flax-resembling hair,And the even thread.
He with this was not content,But must needs do more;And in twain the thread was rent,Though 'twas safe before.
And the flax's stonelike weightNeeded to be told;But no longer was its stateValued as of old.
When I took it to the weaver,Something felt I start, And more quickly, as with fever,Throbb'd my trembling heart.
Then I bear the thread at lengthThrough the heat, to bleach;But, alas, I scarce have strengthTo the pool to reach.
What I in my little roomSpan so fine and slight,--As was likely. I presume--
Came at last to light.
1800.*
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