Page:The witch-maid & other verses (1914).djvu/87

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been validated.




I was a master-weaver
To weave my grief and care,
And day and night I fashioned
A heavy robe to wear.

I trailed it on the highway
Dust-grey, with weary pride,
I set upon my forehead
A wreath of thorns beside.

The sun on high in Heaven
Looked down and loud laughed he:
"What little dwarf goes yonder
In robes of majesty?"