In the Hall With Gwyneth

DRAW the thread through the moving loom, Lift the silk where the sun will fall; Weave and weave and weave, till all The green woof passes into bloom;

Weave till the flowery pattern dies, And petals fade in the falling dusk; Out of the garden blow attar and musk; Over the garden one cloud lies.

Leave the loom, O daughter of her Who bore three fairies, and then bore thee To drink up the souls of the other three, And learn what strange things were;

Leave the loom, and sit here instead, Long fair hand on the carven arm, Face like a lily risen warm From the blood of roses dead.

Little shadows come in to blur The pageant of pearls on thy robe's blue hem, And the white of the pearl leaps out from them Like moons of dusks that were.

The drone of the loom was like the drone Of old warm noons in the lonely Fall, When fields are deep with broom, and all The air with amber bees is sown.

O Silver Woman, what shall I say? Is it indeed that I love thee?— Or only the beauty that sings to me When I cross thy way?

Is it thou, Sweet, or the dream of thee? Is it thou whom I love, or the old, warm noons And the sealèd light of sunken moons That thy strange face weaves for me?

I have loved women in many lands, Languid women and women at looms; I have seen Love laid in the thousand tombs Love understands.

And here is the whole brave truth at last There is something dearer than these, to me! Aye, the beauty that love gives radiantly Is the prize that I hold fast.

Leave me, thou lily of gardens dim That I do not know, thou very sweet Of the world of dreams! O Little Feet, Go over the utmost twilight rim

Of the world, and bear thou there with thee Thy silver hands and thine odorous hair— But the dream and wonder thou canst not bear, For the high gods gave them me!

Now Gwyneth who wove hath left her loom, With silken step for the turret stair, And the dark is everywhere in the room, And the casement suffers the listless air.

The casement suffers the listless air— There was one who leaned there long ago— And, oh, for the scarf that she used to wear, And a name that I used to know!