The Knitters

IN companies or lone They bend their heads, their hands They busy with their gear, Accomplishing the stitch That turns the stocking-heel, Or closes up the toe, These knitters at their doors. Their talk 's of nothing else But what was told before Sundown and gone sundown, While goats bleat from the hill, And men are tramping home, By knitters at their doors. And we who go this way A benediction take From hands that ply this task For the ten thousandth time Of knitters at their doors. Since we who deem our days Most varied, come to own That all the works we do Repeat a wonted toil: May it be done as theirs Who turn the stocking-heel, And close the stocking-toe, With grace and in content, These knitters at their doors. The Charm Uisge cloiche gan irraidh WATER, I did not seek you, Water of hollow stone; I crossed no one's acre to find you You were where my geese lie down. I dip my fingers and sprinkle, While three times over I say, 'Chance-bound and chance-found water Can take a numbness away.' The numbness that leaves me vacant Of thought and will and deed Like the moveless clock that I gaze on- It will go where the ravens breed. I empty the stone; on the morrow I shall rise with spirit alive; Gallant amongst the gallant, I shall speak and lead and strive. In search there is no warrant, By chance is the charm shown: Water, I did not seek you, Water of hollow stone!