The Wonderful Weaver

There's a wonderful weaver

High up in the air,

And he weaves a white mantle

For cold earth to wear,

With the wind for his shuttle,

The cloud for his loom,

How he weaves! how he weaves!

In the light, in the gloom.

Oh! with finest of laces

He decks bush and tree,

On the bare flinty meadows

A cover lays he.

Then a quaint cap he places

On pillar and post,

And he changes the pump

To a grim, silent ghost.

But this wonderful weaver

Grows weary at last,

And the shuttle lies idle

That once flew so fast;

Then the sun peeps abroad

On the work that is done;

And he smiles: "I'll unravel

It all just for fun!"