Myself the while unseen,

I marked a maiden seated by the window,

Sewing with a machine.

Her gentle foot propelled the tireless treadle,

Her gentle hand the seam:

My fancy said, it were a bliss to peddle

Those shirts, as in a dream!

Her lovely fingers lent to yoke and collar

Some imperceptible taste;

The rural swain, who buys it for a dollar,