Indian Weavers by Sarojini Naidu

WEAVERS, weaving at break of day,

Why do you weave a garment so gay? .

Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild,

We weave the robes of a new-born child.

Weavers, weaving at fall of night,

Why do you weave a garment so bright? .

Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green,

We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.

Weavers, weaving solemn and still,

What do you weave in the moonlight chill? .

White as a feather and white as a cloud,

We weave a dead man’s funeral shroud

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