The poem
As I calmly sat and span,
Toiling with all zeal, Lo! a young and handsome man
Pass'd my spinning-wheel.
And he praised,--what harm was there?--
Sweet the things he said-- Praised my flax-resembling hair,
And the even thread.
He with this was not content,
But must needs do more; And in twain the thread was rent,
Though 'twas safe before.
And the flax's stonelike weight
Needed to be told; But no longer was its state
Valued as of old.
When I took it to the weaver,
Something felt I start, And more quickly, as with fever,
Throbb'd my trembling heart.
Then I bear the thread at length
Through the heat, to bleach; But, alas, I scarce have strength
To the pool to reach.
What I in my little room
Span so fine and slight,-- As was likely. I presume--
Came at last to light.
1800.*