"Is it your sin, that turned your cup blood red?"
"Nay; for I drained the cup, and washed it clean with my tears."
"Is it your sorrow, that changed the green world to black about you?"
"Nay; for I wrapped me in it as in a mantle, and now I should go cold
without it."
"What then?" she asked; and ever as she spoke, back and forth, back and
forth, the shuttle flew.
"Oh, what but my blunder! when I would make a path for my Love's white
feet, and set instead a snare for them, to her hurt?"
Then those high ladies spoke all together; cold, sweet, steadfast were
the voices of them, and the shuttle humming through.
"Even now the shuttle is threaded with your fault, and naught may stay
its way. Go, poor soul, empty and crying as you came; yet take one
comfort with you. Even of this, even of this, the Web had need!"