All day she sits and works before her loom; The warp and woof of purest wool she weaves Means nothing more than pain that comes and leaves Her eyes more dim. The aching years of gloom Arise and stretch ahead like some great light Whose presence heals and soothes the soul, then flees -- She sees white moonlight streaming through dark trees And feels the silence strong and swift of night; But never will she run along the shore, Her arms outflung in joy to catch the mist That falls in pale but crystal amethyst, It is this thought that grieves and asks for more; She sighs, her life with light and laughter done, And slowly pulls the threads back, one by one. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ISAAC AND ARCHIBALD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE CONSOLATION OF PHILOSOPHY: BOOK 3 by ANICIUS MANLIUS SEVERINUS BOETHIUS LINES; TO ONE WHO WISHED TO READ A POEM I HAD WRITTEN by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA |