A SONG.
The year's at the spring
The day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven—
All's right with the world!
—From Browning's "Pippa Passes."
PIPPA.
All the year in the little village of Asola the great wheels of the mills went round and round. It seemed to the very little children that they never, never stopped, but went on turning and singing, turning and singing. No matter where you went in the village, the hum of the wheels could always be heard; and though no one could really say what the wheels sang, everyone turned gladly to his work or went swiftly on his errand when he heard the busy song.
Everyone was proud of the mills in Asola, and the children most of all. The very little ones would go to the lowest windows and look into the great dim room where the wheels were, and they wondered, as they looked, if ever they would grow wise enough to help make silk.
Those children who were older wound thread on the bobbins, or helped at the looms. And whenever they saw the bright stuff in shop windows, or a beautiful woman passed in silken robes, they looked with shining eyes. "See how beautiful!" they would say. "We helped. She needs us; the world needs us!" and their hearts were so full of gladness at the thought.
The poet tells us there was a child there whose name was Pippa, and she worked all day in this mill, winding silk on the little whirling, whirling spools.