Knitting

Knitting written by William Henry Davies

From "Farewell to Poesy", 1910

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E'en though her tongue may by its force
Leave me as helpless as a horse,
When saucy pup doth bark at him -
I'll love her better for that whim.
No steady summer's love for me,
But let her still uncertain be;
Like spring, whose gusts, and frowns, and showers,
Do grow us fresher, lovelier flowers.
No substances on earth can make
The joy I from her shadow take;
When first I saw her face, I could
Not help draw near her where she stood;
I felt more joy than when a Bee
Sees in a garden a Plum tree
All blossoms and no leaves, and he
Leaps o'er the fence immediately.
I like to see her when she sits -
Not dreaming I look on - and knits;
To see her hands, with grace so light,
Stabbing the wool that's red or white;
With shining needles, sharp and long,
That never seem to go far wrong.
And that sight better pleases me
Than green hills in the sun; to see
The beach, what time the tide goes out,
And leaves his gold spread all about,

This work is in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less.