“The priests distributed various coloured silken threads to weave for the veil of the sanctuary; and it fell to Mary’s lot to weave purple.”
-The Book of the Bee, ch. XXXIV.
I
THE chosen maidens, Weavers of the Veil,
Kneeling in crescent, from the High Priest took
Their wisps of silk in slender hands that shook
Lifting the colors to their lips rose-pale
With holy passion, -colors like the frail
Spring flowers of Carmel, blue as that glad look
Of dancing iris, scarlet as a nook
Of wild anemones, or gold as sail
Seen from its summit ‘neath the Syrian moon.
But Mary caught her breath in one swift sob
Of pain uncomprehended ere it fled,
Leaving her heart with some strange fear a-throb,
For the wise priest, as one conferring boon,
Had meted out to her a purple thread.
II
O mothers of the race, ye bless
(Katharine Lee Bates)
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