Morning and evening, sleep she drove away,
Old Platthis--warding hunger from the door,
And still to wheel and distaff hummed her lay
Hard by the gates of Eld, and bent and hoar;
Plying her loom until the dawn was gray,
The long course of Athene did she tread:
With withered hand by withered knee she spun
Sufficient for the loom of goodly thread,
Till all her work and all her days were done.
And in her eightieth year she saw the wave
Of Acheron--old Platthis--kind and brave.
