Lengths of lawn and dimities,
Dainty, smooth and cool,
In their possibilities
Beautiful,

Stretch beneath my hand in sheets,
Fragrant from the loom,
Like a field of marguerites
All in bloom.

Where my scissors' footsteps pass
Fluttering furrows break,
As the scythe trails through the grass
Its deep wake.

All my stitches, running fleet,
Cannot match the tread
Of my thoughts whose wingèd feet
Race ahead.

They are gathering imagery
Out of time and space,
That a needle's artistry
May embrace:

Hints of dawn and thin blue sky,
Breaths the breezes bear,
Wispy-waspy things that fly
In warm air.

Bolts of dimity I take,
Muslin smooth and cool;
These my fingers love to make