Ah, sad-eyed weaver, the years are slow,
But each one is nearer the end, I know.
And some day the last thread shall be wove in,
God grant it be love instead of sin.
Are we spinners of woof for this life web, say?
Do we furnish the weavers a thread each day?
It were better then, O my friend, to spin
A beautiful thread, than a thread of sin.
THE FORTUNATE ISLES
By Joaquin Miller