The Spinner.

As I calmly sat and span,     Toiling with all zeal,     Lo! a young and handsome man     Pass'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 weight     Needed to be told;     But no longer was its state     Valued 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 length     Through the heat, to bleach;     But, alas, I scarce have strength     To the pool to reach.     What I in my little room     Span so fine and slight,     As was likely. I presume     Came at last to light.