The Ropewalk

In that building, long and low,With its windows all a-row,Like the port-holes of a hulk,Human spiders spin and spin,Backward down their threads so thinDropping, each a hempen bulk.

At the end, an open door;Squares of sunshine on the floorLight the long and dusky lane;And the whirring of a wheel,Dull and drowsy, makes me feelAll its spokes are in my brain.

As the spinners to the endDownward go and reascend,Gleam the long threads in the sun;While within this brain of mineCobwebs brighter and more fineBy the busy wheel are spun.

Two fair maidens in a swing,Like white doves upon the wing,First before my vision pass;Laughing, as their gentle handsClosely clasp the twisted strands,At their shadow on the grass.

Then a booth of mountebanks,With its smell of tan and planks,And a girl poised high in airOn a cord, in spangled dress,With a faded loveliness,And a weary look of care.

Then a homestead among farms,And a woman with bare armsDrawing water from a well;As the bucket mounts apace,With it mounts her own fair face,As at some magician's spell.

Then an old man in a tower,Ringing loud the noontide hour,While the rope coils round and roundLike a serpent at his feet,And again, in swift retreat,Nearly lifts him from the ground.

Then within a prison-yard,Faces fixed, and stern, and hard,Laughter and indecent mirth;Ah! it is the gallows-tree!Breath of Christian charity,Blow, and sweep it from the earth!

Then a school-boy, with his kiteGleaming in a sky of light,And an eager, upward look;Steeds pursued through lane and field;Fowlers with their snares concealed;And an angler by a brook.

Ships rejoicing in the breeze,Wrecks that float o'er unknown seas,Anchors dragged through faithless sand;Sea-fog drifting overhead,And, with lessening line and lead,Sailors feeling for the land.

All these scenes do I behold,These, and many left untold,In that building long and low;While the wheel goes round and round,With a drowsy, dreamy sound,And the spinners backward go.