"I canna min' my wheel, mither." (Way)

Oh my mother, sweetest mother, I can weave my web no more,
For my soul for my belovèd is with passion flooded o'er!
Aphrodite wills it so.
Hush thee, swallow, cease thy plaining of the ancient sin and wrong,
O thou daughter of Pandion; for the sorrow in thy song
Makes my tears the faster flow.
In a dream I saw the Love-queen with a cloud-veil floating round her;
And I cried to her to help me, but unpitying I found her:
She but smiled to see my woe!