Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel

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Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal

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She thinketh of her song, upon the whole,

The better for the sweetness of our song.

While thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue

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A pleasant chant, ballad or barcarole;

Our Fathers business in these temples mirk,

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Some high calm spheric tune, and prove our work

The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel