Oh me! Oh knitting! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless faces of the failed,
Of sweaters fill’d with errors,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more error prone than I, and who more knitterly?)
Of needles that vainly crave the stitches, of the sweaters mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the dropped stitches I see around me,
Of the rows and useless days of knitting, with fellow knitters me intertwined,
The question, Oh me! so sad, recurring – What good amid these, O me, O knitting?
That you are here – that yarn exists and beauty,
That the powerful needles click on, and you may contribute a row.
Original poem by Walt Whitman
Two yarns I pulled from upon shelf
And sorry I could not purchase both
And be one knitter, long I stood
And thought about what I might make
With the skein I held in left
Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps a better claim
Because it was bright and wanted wear;
Though as for that the waiting there
The gauge really about the same
And both that morning equally lay
On shelves no hands had touched for months.
Oh, I left the first for another day!
Yet knowing how project leads on to project,
I was sure I would come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two skeins were held in my hand, and I -
I took the one with cashmere ply
and that has made all the difference.
Original poem by Robert Frost