Explore "Widow Mcfarlane" by Edgar Lee Masters on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I was the Widow McFarlane, / Weaver of carpets for all the village.
And I pity you still at the loom of life, / You who are singing to the shuttle / And lovingly watching the work of your hands, / If you reach the day of hate, of terrible truth.
For the cloth of life is woven, you know, / To a pattern hidden under the loom --
A pattern you never see!
And you weave high-hearted, singing, singing, / You guard the threads of love and friendship / For noble figures in gold and purple.
And long after other eyes can see / You have woven a moon-white strip of cloth, / You laugh in your strength, for Hope o'erlays it / With shapes of love and beauty.
The loom stops short! The pattern's out!
You're alone in the room! You have woven a shroud!
And hate of it lays you in it!