The Cobbler

A little cloud in a golden veil
At setting of the sun:
And I a cobbler working—working;
Work is never done.

A little cloud in a golden veil;
And I am mending shoes,
Never a feathered sandal thing
Such as a cloud may use.

A little cloud in a golden veil,
Along the bright highway:
And but for her, to-morrow were
Another yesterday.

And this will stay, tho’ she melt away
After the moon sets sail.
For no man’s sky is always gray,
—Cloud in a golden veil.