Two sat down in the morning time, One to sing and one to spin. All men listened the song sublime - But no one listened the dull wheel's din.
The singer sat in a pleasant nook, And sang of a life that was fair and sweet, While the spinner sat with a steadfast look, Busily plying her hands and feet.
The singer sang on with a rose in her hair, And all men listened her dulcet tone; And the spinner spun on with a dull despair Down in her heart as she sat alone.
But lo! on the morrow no one said
Aught of the singer or what she sang. Men were saying: "Behold this thread," And loud the praise of the spinner rang.
The world has forgotten the singer's name -
Her rose is faded, her songs are old; But far o'er the ocean the spinner's fame Yet is blazoned in lines of gold.