AS still as a shadow falling,
As swift as a straying leaf,
And sweet as a windless morning,
At dawn when the days are brief,
Is a snare shall be set to enfold me,
Is a net shall be cast and shall hold me,
Shall gather my soul from grief.
And spun very fine the thread is,
As gossamer webs that seal
The dews in the folded blossom,
And trembling and faint I kneel,--
For my joy in the delicate weaving
That is made for my spirit's receiving
With threads that are strong as steel.