  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!
|
|
