Indian Weavers

Weavers, weaving at break of day,
Why do you weave a garment so gay?.......
Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild, 
We weave the robes of a new-born child.

Weavers, weaving at fall of night,
Why do you weave a garment so bright?.......
Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green,
We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.



Weavers, weaving solemn and still,
What do you weave in the moonlight chill....
White as a feather and white as a cloud,
We weave a dead man's funeral shroud.