Passion Flowers (Watson)/My Lady Arachne's Penance

My Lady Arachne's Penance.

My Lady Arachne flits i' the gloom, distraught i' the search for me,
An' her wee white foot for the treadle feels i' the place it was wont to be;
She croons the song i' the garret lorn,
Which lured the wheel around,
The while her fingers encircle the dark,
Then droop—for I am not found.

The moonbeams sift through the lattice high on my lady's wonderful hair;
She falters, a-smoothing the long gold strands to spin—but I am not there.
The spider offers her silken thread,
Her wheel to my lady would loan;
The wind it would chant in her stead a rune
With a spell like Arachne's own.

But it may not be, an' wi' hopeless dole she searches the awesome space,
Ashiver wi' tears she may not shed, making moan i' the ghostly place:
"Ah! woe it is me, an' a piteous plight
Is it mine, for a penitent wraith;
They hae ta'en my wheel, an' I may not spin,
An' I may not keep my faith."

"Some jealous ghoul for despite has ta'en away my spinning wheel,
An' I vowed to spin my long gold hair, till he came, my lover leal.
Ah! woe is me—my doom is dree!
For he may not find me now
By the silken threads o' my shining hair
Hung out i' the winds, I trow."

I' the days agone Arachne scorned the lover who loved her best,
For that wi' toil his hand was soiled—an' her soul it may not rest.
His heart she brak' or ere she died,
An' her vow it is to spin
The golden hair that snared his heart,
I' penance for her sin.