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Poem	I broider the world upon a loom, I broider with dreams my tapestry; Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me. I broider my life into the frame, I broider my love, thread upon thread; The world goes by with its glory and shame, Crowns are bartered and blood is shed; I sit and broider my dreams instead. And the only world is the world of my dreams, And my weaving the only happiness; For what is the world but what it seems? And who knows but that God, beyond our guess, Sits weaving worlds out of loneliness?
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