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Indian Weavers

WEAVERS, weaving at break of day,
Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild,
We weave the robes of a new-born child.

Weavers, weaving at fall of night,
Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . .
Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green,
We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.

Weavers, weaving solemn and still,
What do you weave in the moonlight chill? . . .
White as a feather and white as a cloud,
We weave a dead man's funeral shroud.

poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life

WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight
weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant
weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end--nor
really aught we know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on--the death-
envelop'd march of peace as well as war goes on;)
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave;
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Couple...

she is weaving
she has an intricate design inside her mind
and for now
i do not see it
she is secretive and
does not want to be asked
just like me
in my own privacy

i am also weaving
stories of my own
and the plot is complicated
in the manner of
whodunnit.

we are the weavers
inside this room and it is not
so well lighted by the
moon

we seldom discuss
what is missing
we decide not to talk about
what mess we are in

tomorrow morning
we shall weave again
under the heat of the sun
we are never burned
never charred

tonight we shall be in this room
again
we shall weave again
the designs in our minds
our fingers entwine
on matters sanguine.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Purple Thread

'The priests distributed various coloured silken threads to weave for the veil of the sanctuary; and it fell to Mary's lot to weave purple.'
—The Book of the Bee, ch. XXXIV.
I
THE chosen maidens, Weavers of the Veil,
Kneeling in crescent, from the High Priest took
Their wisps of silk in slender hands that shook
Lifting the colors to their lips rose-pale
With holy passion, —colors like the frail
Spring flowers of Carmel, blue as that glad look
Of dancing iris, scarlet as a nook
Of wild anemones, or gold as sail
Seen from its summit 'neath the Syrian moon.
But Mary caught her breath in one swift sob
Of pain uncomprehended ere it fled,
Leaving her heart with some strange fear a-throb,
For the wise priest, as one conferring boon,
Had meted out to her a purple thread.
II
O mothers of the race, ye blessèd ones
Who weave with cherubim the veil before
The Holy Place of God, the mystic door
Of life, proud mothers of belovèd sons,
To-day you send them forth to front the guns,
Waving your boys farewell with smiles that pour
Strength into their young souls. Your prayers implore
The Mercy Seat; your love, an angel, runs
Before them with wild, shielding arms outspread.
O Weavers of the Veil, however varies
The silk assigned, exceeding great reward
Is yours, for you —O you, most sacred Maries,
To whom is given grief's royal, purple thread —
Make beautiful the temple of the Lord.

poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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The Great and Little Weavers

The great and the little weavers,
They neither rest nor sleep.
They work in the height and the glory,
They toil in the dark and the deep.
The rainbow melts with the shower,
The white-thorn falls in the gust,
The cloud-rose dies into shadow,
The earth-rose dies into dust.
But they have not faded forever,
They have not flowered in vain,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the rain.

Recede the drums of the thunder
When the Titan chorus tires,
And the bird-song piercing the sunset
Faints with the sunset fires,

But the trump of the storm shall fail not,
Nor the flute-cry fail of the thrush,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the hush.

The comet flares into darkness,
The flame dissolves into death,
The power of the star and the dew
They glow and are gone like a breath,

But ere the old wonder is done
Is the new-old wonder begun,
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving under the sun.

The domes of an empire crumble,
A child's hope dies in tears;
Time rolls them away forgotten
In the silt of the flooding years;

The creed for which men died smiling
Decays to a beldame's curse;
The love that made lips immortal
Drags by in a tattered hearse.

But not till the search of the moon
Sees the last white face uplift,
And over the bones of the kindreds
The bare sands dredge and drift,

Shall Love forget to return
And lift the unused latch,
(In his eyes the look of the traveller,
On his lips the foreign catch),

Nor the mad song leave men cold,
Nor the high dream summon in vain, --
For the great and the little weavers
Are weaving in heart and brain.

poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Interwoven Changes

from spiritual sphere
vibrating perfection
heightened plane
radiating enlightenment

come skilled weavers
cultivating choice workmanship
surrogate forefathers weave
substitute artisan transition

come weavers who
sanction chosen
pious path divining
difficult diffuse

deifying interwoven
soul shaping changes
guardians investing
cerebellum corporeal beauty

redusting
waning world
with stardust
breathing

resonant life
back into
dead works
made manifest

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Associated with the Weaving

It becomes difficult to witness,
Someone struggling to untangle...
From a web they did weave strategically.

With an acknowledgement they had spent,
Time in trying to convince,
Their actions and deeds...
Were done with the utmost sincerity.

And to one who has warned...
Through use of observation that connects,
It becomes hard to protect one's integrity.
When standing firm with beliefs.
While others perceive this stance as weak.

It becomes difficult to witness,
Someone struggling to untangle...
From a web they did weave strategically.

Since those now stuck,
In that web that has been woven...
Find themselves equally embarrassed,
Following along as if deaf, dumb and blind...
Because of the 'appearance' of deceit,
A culprit for them has chosen to undermind.

It becomes difficult to witness,
Someone struggling to untangle...
From a web they did weave strategically.

And those following who rejected what had been said...
From past experiences hoped to prevent this,
Find they have become associated with the weaving.
And even though they may be innocent...
A speaking to anyone not paying attention,
Any empathy expressed still will not be heard.

It may be difficult to see as witnessed,
But...
Unbearable to leave as seen,
It is not.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Some people weave burlap into the fabric of our lives, and some weave gold thread. Both contribute to make the whole picture beautiful and unique.

unknown author
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weave Your Spell

Last night when you spoke to me
Emotion in your voice
You said that you gave to me
A very simple choice
I could leave you ...
And go wandering on my own
Or believe in you ...
Never leave you all alone
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay
When you met me I was wild
"The Spider and the Fly"
Your affections made me smile
I didn't have to try
But then you tamed me...
never blamed me for my pride
And you aimed to ...
Find the real me deep inside
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay
Now I'm feeling like a change
You say that I don't care
But when I look across the way
It's always greener there
If I leave you ...
I may never have the choice
To come back to ...
All the loving that you gave unceasingly
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay

song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wave Your Spell

Last night when you spoke to me
Emotion in your voice
You said that you gave to me
A very simple choice
I could leave you ...
And go wandering on my own
Or believe in you ...
Never leave you all alone
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay
When you met me I was wild
The spider and the fly
Your affections made me smile
I didnt have to try
But then you tamed me...
Never blamed me for my pride
And you aimed to ...
Find the real me deep inside
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay
Now Im feeling like a change
You say that I dont care
But when I look across the way
Its always greener there
If I leave you ...
I may never have the choice
To come back to ...
All the loving that you gave unceasingly
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay

song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spinner

Oh, what was it he meant
By his question as he went?
'I am making a loom,
'T will be up in April's bloom;
If you think it may be,
Spin for me!'

Oh, what shall I believe?
Does he think himself to weave?
And the yarn that I spin,
Lo, he thinks to weave it in?
And so soon as the Spring
Flowers shall bring?

And he laughed when he'd done;
Oh, he is so full of fun.
Dare I trust all my skein
To so young and wild a swain?-
May God help to bind in
All I spin!

poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Pan Is Dead

‘Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead.
Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all,
And weave ye him his coronal.’

'There is no summer in the leaves,
And withered are the sedges;
How shall we weave a coronal,
Or gather floral pledges?'

'That I may not say, Ladies.
Death was ever a churl.
That I may not say, Ladies.
How should he show a reason,
That he has taken our Lord away
Upon such hollow season?'

poem by Ezra Pound
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Sweet Dream

I weave sweet dreams
of twinkling light
in moonlit night

I entwine a garland of stars
in moonlit night

I do all so
to embellish you to look
like a fairy queen
and cherish you in moonlit night

I do so all
to see you like second moon
for graceful moment in moonlit night

I weave sweet dreams
of my thoughts and
make a garland
to vesture you to look
like a fairy queen

The rapacity of moon
will increase to see your beauty
then I will cover you
like the cloud
in moonlit night

I will ask the moonlit night
not to leave us alone
and be with us
throughout life.

poem by Ramesh Rai
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Truth In Deathbed

if you brought the
truth about me in your deathbed
do not worry

i am not interested to know
i make myself
i weave
my lies too

i am the spider weaving
my own house
that traps
all my prey and i have learned
to eat them all

sleep well mother
do not tell me what heaven
is all about

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fisher Child's Lullaby

THE wind is out in its rage to-night,
And your father is far at sea.
The rime on the window is hard and white
But dear, you are near to me.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
The little boat rocks in the cove no more,
But the flying sea-gulls wail;
I peer through the darkness that wraps the shore,
For sight of a home set sail.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
Ay, lad of mine, thy father may die
In the gale that rides the sea,
But we'll not believe it, not you and I,
Who mind us of Galilee.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Cloak, The Boat, And The Shoes

'WHAT do you make so fair and bright?'
'I make the cloak of Sorrow:
O lovely to see in all men's sight
Shall be the cloak of Sorrow,
In all men's sight.'
'What do you build with sails for flight?'
'I build a boat for Sorrow:
O swift on the seas all day and night
Saileth the rover Sorrow,
All day and night.'
What do you weave with wool so white?'
'I weave the shoes of Sorrow:
Soundless shall be the footfall light
In all men's ears of Sorrow,
Sudden and light.'

poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Cloak, The Boat And The Shoes

'What do you make so fair and bright?'

'I make the cloak of Sorrow:
O lovely to see in all men's sight
Shall be the cloak of Sorrow,
In all men's sight.'

'What do you build with sails for flight?'

'I build a boat for Sorrow:
O swift on the seas all day and night
Saileth the rover Sorrow,
All day and night.'

What do you weave with wool so white?'

'I weave the shoes of Sorrow:
Soundless shall be the footfall light
In all men's ears of Sorrow,
Sudden and light.'

poem by William Butler Yeats
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To The Men Of England

Men of England, wherefore plough
For the lords who lay ye low?
Wherefore weave with toil and care
The rich robes your tyrants wear?

Wherefore feed and clothe and save,
From the cradle to the grave,
Those ungrateful drones who would
Drain your sweat -- nay, drink your blood?

Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge,
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?

Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?
Or what is it ye buy so dear
With your pain and with your fear?

The seed ye sow another reaps;
The wealth ye find another keeps;
The robes ye weave another wears;
The arms ye forge another bears.

Sow seed, -- but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth, -- let no imposter heap;
Weave robes, -- let not the idle wear;
Forge arms, in your defence to bear.

Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;
In halls ye deck another dwells.
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

With plough and spade and hoe and loom,
Trace your grave, and build your tomb,
And weave your winding-sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre!

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Song To The Men Of England

I.
Men of England, wherefore plough
For the lords who lay ye low?
Wherefore weave with toil and care
The rich robes your tyrants wear?

II.
Wherefore feed and clothe and save,
From the cradle to the grave,
Those ungrateful drones who would
Drain your sweat -- nay, drink your blood?

III.
Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge,
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?

IV.
Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?
Or what is it ye buy so dear
With your pain and with your fear?

V.
The seed ye sow another reaps;
The wealth ye find another keeps;
The robes ye weave another wears;
The arms ye forge another bears.

VI.
Sow seed,-- but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth,-- let no imposter heap;
Weave robes,-- let not the idle wear;
Forge arms, in your defence to bear.

VII.
Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;
In halls ye deck another dwells.
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

VIII.
With plough and spade and hoe and loom,
Trace your grave, and build your tomb,
And weave your winding-sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre!

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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How To Weave A Dream

Quietly you made, your way into my heart,
Without your knowing, without making a start
It was all my doing, only I knew
How to weave a dream that could never be true!
You never knew, my heart pumped quick
How could you, it was one way traffic
Without giving anything, you took it all
You couldn’t ever, it was my call!
I built the castle, it was on sand
I felt your warmth upon my hand
Only I could do it, you never knew
How to weave a dream that could never be true!

poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Jane O'Grady

Grey old lady, sat by the sea
With her nimble fingers, weaving,
Jane O’Grady, seventy three
In the world that she was leaving.
Hummed sweet honey from virgin lips
In the way of the wind, sad-sighing,
Carried the song from her fingertips
To the day that she lay dying.

Shuttle sang in the early breeze
To the tune of life’s sweet sorrow:
“God, I’m weary of weaving love,
But I’ll not be here tomorrow.”

Grey old lady, worked with a will
On the shawl of life’s sweet pattern,
Fingers stilled in the dawning chill
As the world turned once too often.
Nevermore will she weave the love
That we borrowed, all unknowing,
Only the rags of the hand-me-downs
With the grey wind blowing.

24 November 1974

poem by David Lewis Paget
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