<h2><SPAN name="page135"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>TWO SAT DOWN</h2>
<p class="poetry">Two sat down in the morning time,<br/>
One to sing and one to spin.<br/>
All men listened the song sublime—<br/>
But no one listened the dull wheel’s din.</p>
<p class="poetry">The singer sat in a pleasant nook,<br/>
And sang of a life that was fair and sweet,<br/>
While the spinner sat with a steadfast look,<br/>
Busily plying her hands and feet.</p>
<p class="poetry">The singer sang on with a rose in her hair,<br/>
And all men listened her dulcet tone;<br/>
And the spinner spun on with a dull despair<br/>
Down in her heart as she sat alone.</p>
<p class="poetry">But lo! on the morrow no one said<br/>
Aught of the singer or what she sang.<br/>
Men were saying: “Behold this thread,”<br/>
And loud the praise of the spinner rang.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page136"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
136</span>The world has forgotten the singer’s
name—<br/>
Her rose is faded, her songs are old;<br/>
But far o’er the ocean the spinner’s fame<br/>
Yet is blazoned in lines of gold.</p>
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