Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos!
All your gain is not my loss;
Spin your black threads if you will;
Twist them, turn, with all your skill;
Hold! there's one you cannot sever!
One bright thread shall last forever.

You are defied, you, Atropos!
Draw your glittering shears across, --
One still mocks your cruel art!
From the fibres of my heart
Did I spin the shining thread
That will live when you are dead.

Fate, but hark! one thing I'll teach:
There are wonders past your reach,
Of the heart and of the soul:
Woman's love 's past your control!
These are not threads of your spinning,
No, nor shall be of your winning.