I’D like to lift the threads of life

I

And weave them on a loom

And make a pattern beautiful,

As any day in June.

I’d put ten thousand violets

And shimmering leaves of green,

Around the edge and over it,

To hide each vulgar seam.

Because, death brushed me with dark wings,

Reluctant passed me by,

I take the threads of life again

And weave and smile and sigh.

But if I had a God-like power

Omnipotence of mind,

To put the tho’t of suffering

And death a league behind.

Life would be violets to me

Much sweeter than a dream.

The pattern on my loom would show

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