THREE women sit at the crossway lonely, They're thinking and spinning, They're sighing and grinning; Their very aspect is hideous only. The distaff the first holds, so placid; The threads she setteth, And each one wetteth; So her hanging lip is all dry and flaccid. The spindle the second one dances In a circle 'tis whirling, In droll fashion twirling; The old woman's eyes shoot blood-red glances. The third Fate's hands, so befitting, Hold the scissors so dreary, She hums Miserere, And sharp is her nose, with a wart on it sitting. O hasten thee quickly, and sever My life's thread so sadd'ning, Escaping this madd'ning Turmoil of life's distresses for ever! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK MONKEY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD IVAN THE CZAR by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG: HER DEATH by THOMAS HOOD LAUS VENERIS (A PICTURE BY BURNE-JONES) by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON AN ELEGIE, OR FRIENDS PASSION, FOR HIS ASTROPHILL by MATTHEW ROYDEN VERS LIBRE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |