O fair white silk, fresh from the weaver’s
loom,
Clear as the frost, bright as the winter
snow –
See! friendship fashions out of thee a fan,
Round as the round moon shines in heaven
above ;
At home, abroad, a close companion thou,
Stirring at every move the grateful gale ,
And yet I fear, ah me! that autumn chills,
Cooling the dying summer’s torrid rage,
Will see thee laid neglected on the shelf,
All thought of by gone days, like them
by-gone.
The Lady Pan, 1st cent. B.C.