Bead Work

Restless needle, where my beads Whip with colour, roll like seeds. Dive, and pick up one and one. One and one till we are done; And fasten each one firm and true Where the pattern tells you to — One and one, and one and one. One and one, and one and one — Flying needle, as you run. As you pick up the lobes of light Mind you guide each sparkle right; Mind this tawny brown you choose, Shading it with light wood hues, When you shape the curving rim Of this great basket, on whose brim Heap the designated green. From new-leaf shades to laurel's sheen. Then with dawn-pinks and heavy reds Paint the drowsy roses' heads. Let dreamy mauves and tones of brass, And bits of blue in mosaic mass, Speak for the tints of timid bloom Which share the shadows' checkered gloom . . . Sleepy flowers, Speeding hours, Hours, flowers, hours . . .