A Pocket Handkerchief To Hem
A pocket handkerchief to hem -
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!
How many stitches it will take
Before it's done, I fear.
Yet set a stitch and then a stitch,
And stitch and stitch away,
Till stitch by stitch the hem is done -
And after work is play!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Related quotes
Stiches
Sew me back together
Make every stitch clean
Pull the thread tighter
I'm ripping from the seams
Come quickly whoever you are
And stitch back together my heart
poem by Sydney Bell
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Stitches
Sew me back together
Make every stitch clean
Pull the thread tighter
I'm ripping from the seams
Come quickly whoever you are
And stitch back together my heart
poem by Zara Youtz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Stitch In Time
I work in dark factories --- a cog in the big wheel
Driving grey satanic mills and weaving sad stories.
And faceless masters --- oh, they pay me plenty ---
Crumbs from their luncheon packs, harsh wine from
Bottles halk empty.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said cock robin from the wall.
Its an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
So I flew to the south sun with birds of a feather
To drink in the warm nights and tell of fine weather.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Listen all you young folk --- your lives on a timetable
Clocking on twenty-one --- fly while youre able.
A stitch in time saves nine.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song of the Shirt
The Song of the Shirt
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread--
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."
"Work! work! work!
While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work — work — work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's Oh! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!
"Work — work — work
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work — work — work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!
Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch — stitch — stitch,
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
Sewing at once with a double thread,
A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
But why do I talk of Death?
That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear its terrible shape,
It seems so like my own —
It seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep;
Oh, God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!
"Work — work — work!
My Labour never flags;
And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread — and rags.
That shatter'd roof — and this naked floor —
A table — a broken chair —
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!
"Work — work — work!
From weary chime to chime,
Work — work — work!
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,
As well as the weary hand.
"Work — work — work,
In the dull December light,
And work — work — work,
When the weather is warm and bright —
While underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows cling
As if to show me their sunny backs
And twit me with the spring.
Oh! but to breathe the breath
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet —
With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet
For only one short hour
To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want
And the walk that costs a meal!
Oh! but for one short hour!
A respite however brief!
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief!
A little weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed
My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread!"
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread —
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, —
Would that its tone could reach the Rich! —
She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fading Tunes
i keep singing the same song
for the low pitch but the tune so long
i cling on to the whirling wind
never mind life at it's own speed
After all;
History buries no heroes
Age admits no zeroes
the dead are only weighty kilos
Nevertheless...
our time always comes
surely our prides always hurls
yet our wickedness ever curls
After all, We are just human
Every man with a half rib for a woman
a stitch by stitch is a full human
flesh for immortal soul makes us strong
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Switch
When dawn snuffs out sleep's candlelight
one's memory retains as bright
far fog framed phantom image which
imprints its background stitch by stitch
upon the mind – dream drawn despite
the evidence that day and night
defy comparison. The switch
from focus when the rest is pitch
to depth of vision often might
seem trite when gift of second sight
ungranted is or atrophies.
Soul inner cecity defies,
“necessity” denies. Heart seeks
beyond the ken of highest peaks.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Lottery Ticket
'A ticket for the lottery
I've purchased every week,' said she
'For years a score
Though desperately poor am I,
Oh how I've scrimped and scraped to buy
One chance more.
Each week I think I'll gain the prize,
And end my sorrows and my sighs,
For I'll be rich;
Then nevermore I'll eat bread dry,
With icy hands to cry and cry
And stitch and stitch.'
'Tis true she won the premier prize;
It was of formidable size,
Ten million francs.
I know, because the man who sold
It to her splenically told
He got no thanks.
The lucky one was never found,
For she was snugly underground,
And minus breath;
And with that ticket tucked away,
In some old stocking, so they say,
She starved to death.
poem by Robert William Service
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Guess the Title - Patter down Pat
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...........PATTERNS....................PATTE RNS
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....PATTERNS ..........................................PATTERN S
enrich.................................. ...................................which
. ...PATTERNS...................................... ....PATTERNS
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... ........PATTERNS....................PATTERNS
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................PATTERNS....P ATTERNS
.......................which...... .stitch
..........................PATTERNS
10 August 1995
robi03_0762_robi03_0000 QXX_MXX
[C] Jonathan Robin written
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Lady With The Sewing-Machine
Across the fields as green as spinach,
Cropped as close as Time to Greenwich,
Stands a high house; if at all,
Spring comes like a Paisley shawl —
Patternings meticulous
And youthfully ridiculous.
In each room the yellow sun
Shakes like a canary, run
On run, roulade, and watery trill —
Yellow, meaningless, and shrill.
Face as white as any clock's,
Cased in parsley-dark curled locks —
All day long you sit and sew,
Stitch life down for fear it grow,
Stitch life down for fear we guess
At the hidden ugliness.
Dusty voice that throbs with heat,
Hoping with your steel-thin beat
To put stitches in my mind,
Make it tidy, make it kind,
You shall not: I'll keep it free
Though you turn earth, sky and sea
To a patchwork quilt to keep
Your mind snug and warm in sleep!
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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The stitch of a book is its words.
quote by Rumer Godden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The stitch is lost unless the thread be knotted.
The stitch is lost unless the thread is knotted.
If love is torn apart you cannot stitch the pieces together again.
Needle
Me, the needle
can you ignore being little.
Knives can cut and apart,
I can stitch to make a part.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The tailor that makes not a knot loses a stitch.