Penelope by Ella Dietz Clymer Lyrics

Penelope sat weaving all the day
Her web; and I weave mine of tender thought,
And many a quaint device by me is wrought
Of Fancy's golden threads. What will he say
When he shall come? Will he entreat and pray
To see the legend? Will his heart be taught
By it? Night comes and brings me naught;
I must unweave: Ulysses is away,

But when my hero shall at last have come,
And his dear eyes have proved my colors true,
I wonder will my stammering lips be dumb,
My heart's great love unspoken? Then must you,
Dear woven thing, help eyes and blushing cheek
To tell him all I feel, but cannot speak.