Song of the Tapestry Weavers
All among the furze-bush, round the crystal dewpond,
Feed the silly sheep like a cloud upon the down.
Come safely home to croft, bear fleeces white and soft,
Then we’ll send the wool-wains to fair London Town.
All in the dawnlight, white as a snowdrift
Lies the wool a-waiting the spindle and the wheel.
Sing, wheel, right cheerily, while I pace merrily,—
Knot by knot the thread runs on the busy reel.
All in the sunshine, gay as a garden,
Lie the skeins for weaving, the blue and gold and red.
Fly, shuttle, merrily, in and out cheerily,
Making all the woof bright with a rainbow thread.
All in the noontide, wend we to market,—
Hear the folk a-chaffering like jackdaws up and down.
Master, give ear to me, here’s cloth for you to see,
Fit for a canopy in fair London Town.
All in the twilight sweet with the hearth-smoke,
Homeward we go riding while the vesper bells ring.
Southdown or Highland Scot, Fleming or Huguenot,
Weaving our tapestries we shall serve our King!