Crowds are passing on the street,
Tuck on tuck and pleat on pleat
Of people hurrying along,
Homeward bound, throng on throng.
Their work is finished, mine undone;
Still my stitches run.
I cannot watch the people go,
Fold on fold and row on row;
But I know each pulsing tread
Is spinning out a life’s fine thread;
I know the stars, like needle-gleams,
Are pricking through the sky’s wide seams;
And soon the moon must show its face,
Like a pearl button stitched in place.
All the long hours of the day
Are finished now and folded away;
Yet the hem is still undone
Where my stitches run.