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Make me Thy loom then, knit therein this twine:
And make Thy Holy Spirit, Lord, wind quills:
Then weave the web Thyself. Thy yarn is fine.FILL the bowl with rosy wine,
Around our temples roses twine.How sick—to wait—in any place—but thine—
I knew last night—when someone tried to twine—My arms around it twine;
It pulses, and leaps, and quivers,
Like a human heart to mine.Rose, Thistle, Shamrock, all combine
Around the Maple Leaf to twine-To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love;
And sae did I o' mine.Well, fetch his graven collar fine,
And rub the steel, and make it shine,
And leave it round thy neck to twine,A-spinning the silken twine,
It is King Hafbur sends me hither
To learn the sewing fine.”To see the wood-bine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.To see the wood-bine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.A Clothing for the Soul divine;
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.In aged temple, ruined shrine,
And its green wreath of ivy twine;--But what means this? The downy swathes combine,
Conglobe, the smothery coy-caressing stuff
Curdles about her! Vain each twist and twineTo see the rose and woodbine twine:
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.Empress of Art, for thee I twine
This wreath with all too slender skill.
Forgive my Muse each halting line,Twining inextricably, as twine
The clasping tangles of the vine;Twist and twine
Hoop of mine.Surely he hath his posies, which they tear and twine;
Those scentless wisps of straw, that miserably lineWhile, meet for no good work, the vine
May yet its worthless branches twine,I cannot help tears when I see them twine
Their fingers in yours, and their bright curls shine