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+Project Gutenberg's The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman, by Fay Inchfawn
+[Pseudonym of Elizabeth Rebecca Ward]
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+Title: The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman
+
+Author:  Fay Inchfawn
+
+[Pseudonym of Elizabeth Rebecca Ward]
+
+Official Release Date: October, 2002  [Etext #3477]
+[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
+[The actual date this file first posted = 05/09/01]
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+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Project Gutenberg's The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman, by Fay Inchfawn
+*********This file should be named vbohw10.txt or vbohw10.zip********
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+
+
+
+
+THE VERSE-BOOK
+
+OF A
+
+HOMELY WOMAN
+
+
+BY
+
+FAY INCHFAWN
+[Elizabeth Rebecca Ward]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+PART I
+
+INDOORS
+
+
+THE LONG VIEW
+
+WITHIN MY HOUSE
+
+THE HOUSEWIFE
+
+TO MOTHER
+
+IN SUCH AN HOUR
+
+THE DAILY INTERVIEW
+
+THE LITTLE HOUSE
+
+THE HOUSE-MOTHER
+
+A WOMAN IN HOSPITAL
+
+IN CONVALESCENCE
+
+HOMESICK
+
+ON WASHING DAY
+
+WHEN BABY STRAYED
+
+IF ONLY ----
+
+LISTENING
+
+THE DEAR FOLKS IN DEVON
+
+THE REASON
+
+TWO WOMEN
+
+THE PRIZE FIGHT
+
+THE HOME LIGHTS
+
+TO AN OLD TEAPOT
+
+TO A REBELLIOUS DAUGHTER
+
+FOR MOTHERING!
+
+LITTLE FAN
+
+THE NAUGHTY DAY
+
+TO A LITTLE WHITE BIRD
+
+BECAUSE
+
+WHEN HE COMES
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+OUT OF DOORS
+
+EARLY SPRING
+
+THE WITNESS
+
+IN SOMERSET
+
+SONG OF A WOODLAND STREAM
+
+LUGGAGE IN ADVANCE
+
+AT THE CROSS ROADS
+
+SUMMER MET ME
+
+THE CARRIER
+
+THE LAD'S LOVE BY THE GATE
+
+THE THRUSH
+
+IN DORSET DEAR
+
+THE FLIGHT OF THE FAIRIES
+
+THE STREET PLAYER
+
+ON ALL SOULS' EVE
+
+THE LOG FIRE
+
+GOD SAVE THE KING
+
+
+
+Dedicated
+
+TO
+
+MY FIRST LOVE, MY MOTHER
+
+
+
+
+Part I
+
+INDOORS
+
+
+
+
+The Long View
+
+Some day of days! Some dawning
+    yet to be
+I shall be clothed with immortality!
+
+And, in that day, I shall not greatly care
+That Jane spilt candle grease upon the
+    stair.
+
+It will not grieve me then, as once it did,
+That careless hands have chipped my
+    teapot lid.
+
+I groan, being burdened. But, in that
+    glad day,
+I shall forget vexations of the way.
+
+That needs were often great, when means
+    were small,
+Will not perplex me any more at all
+A few short years at most (it may be less),
+I shall have done with earthly storm and
+    stress.
+
+So, for this day, I lay me at Thy feet.
+O, keep me sweet, my Master! Keep
+    me sweet!
+
+
+
+
+
+Within my House
+
+First, there's the entrance, narrow,
+    and so small,
+The hat-stand seems to fill the tiny hall;
+That staircase, too, has such an awkward
+    bend,
+The carpet rucks, and rises up on end!
+Then, all the rooms are cramped and close
+    together;
+And there's a musty smell in rainy weather.
+Yes, and it makes the daily work go hard
+To have the only tap across a yard.
+These creaking doors, these draughts, this
+    battered paint,
+Would try, I think, the temper of a saint,
+
+How often had I railed against these
+    things,
+With envies, and with bitter murmurings
+For spacious rooms, and sunny garden
+    plots!
+Until one day,
+Washing the breakfast dishes, so I think,
+I paused a moment in my work to pray;
+And then and there
+All life seemed suddenly made new and
+    fair;
+For, like the Psalmist's dove among the
+    pots
+(Those endless pots, that filled the tiny
+    sink!),
+My spirit found her wings.
+
+"Lord" (thus I prayed), "it matters not
+    at all
+That my poor home is ill-arranged and
+    small:
+I, not the house, am straitened; Lord,
+    'tis I!
+Enlarge my foolish heart, that by-and-by
+I may look up with such a radiant face
+Thou shalt have glory even in this place.
+And when I trip, or stumble unawares
+In carrying water up these awkward stairs,
+Then keep me sweet, and teach me day
+    by day
+To tread with patience Thy appointed
+    way.
+As for the house . . . . Lord, let it be
+    my part
+To walk within it with a perfect heart."
+
+
+
+
+
+The Housewife
+
+See, I am cumbered, Lord,
+   With serving, and with small vexa-
+     tious things.
+Upstairs, and down, my feet
+Must hasten, sure and fleet.
+So weary that I cannot heed Thy word;
+So tired, I cannot now mount up with
+     wings.
+I wrestle -- how I wrestle! -- through the
+     hours.
+Nay, not with principalities, nor powers --
+Dark spiritual foes of God's and man's --
+But with antagonistic pots and pans:
+With footmarks in the hall,
+With smears upon the wall,
+With doubtful ears, and small unwashen
+     hands,
+And with a babe's innumerable demands.
+
+I toil with feverish haste, while tear-drops
+     glisten,
+
+(O, child of mine, be still. And listen --
+     listen!)
+
+At last, I laid aside
+Important work, no other hands could do
+So well (I thought), no skill contrive so
+     true.
+And with my heart's door open -- open
+     wide --
+With leisured feet, and idle hands, I sat.
+I, foolish, fussy, blind as any bat,
+Sat down to listen, and to learn. And lo,
+My thousand tasks were done the better so.
+
+
+
+
+
+To Mother
+
+I would that you should know,
+Dear mother, that I love you -- love
+     you so!
+That I remember other days and years;
+Remember childish joys and childish fears.
+And this, because my baby's little hand
+Opened my own heart's door and made
+     me understand.
+
+I wonder how you could
+Be always kind and good!
+So quick to hear; to tend
+My smallest ills; to lend
+Such sympathising ears
+Swifter than ancient seer's.
+I never yet knew hands so soft and kind,
+Nor any cheek so smooth, nor any mind
+So full of tender thoughts. . . . Dear
+     mother, now
+I think that I can guess a little how
+You must have looked for some response,
+     some sign,
+That all my tiresome wayward heart was
+     thine.
+
+And sure it was! You were my first dear
+     love!
+You who first pointed me to God above;
+You who seemed hearkening to my lightest
+     word,
+And in the dark night seasons always
+     heard
+When I came trembling, knocking at your
+     door.
+Forgive me, mother, if my whims outwore
+Your patient heart. Or if in later days
+I sought out foolish unfamiliar ways;
+If ever, mother dear, I loosed my hold
+Of your loved hand; or, headstrong,
+     thought you cold,
+Forgive me, mother! Oh, forgive me,
+     dear!
+I am come back at last -- you see me
+     here,
+Your loving child. . . . And, mother,
+     on my knee
+I pray that thus my child may think of
+     me!
+
+
+
+
+
+In Such an Hour
+
+Sometimes, when everything goes
+     wrong:
+When days are short, and nights are long;
+When wash-day brings so dull a sky
+That not a single thing will dry.
+And when the kitchen chimney smokes,
+And when there's naught so "queer" as
+     folks!
+When friends deplore my faded youth,
+And when the baby cuts a tooth.
+While John, the baby last but one,
+Clings round my skirts till day is done;
+When fat, good-tempered Jane is glum,
+And butcher's man forgets to come.
+
+Sometimes, I say, on days like these,
+I get a sudden gleam of bliss.
+"Not on some sunny day of ease,
+He'll come . . but on a day like this!"
+And, in the twinkling of an eye,
+These tiresome things will all go by!
+
+And, 'tis a curious thing, but Jane
+Is sure, just then, to smile again;
+Or, out the truant sun will peep,
+And both the babies fall asleep.
+The fire burns up with roar sublime,
+And butcher's man is just in time.
+And oh! My feeble faith grows strong
+Sometimes, when everything goes wrong!
+
+
+
+
+
+The Daily Interview
+
+Such a sensation Sunday's preacher
+     made.
+"Christian!" he cried, "what is your stock-
+     in-trade?
+Alas! Too often nil. No time to pray;
+No interview with Christ from day to day,
+A hurried prayer, maybe, just gabbled
+     through;
+A random text -- for any one will do."
+Then gently, lovingly, with look intense,
+He leaned towards us --
+"Is this common sense?
+No person in his rightful mind will try
+To run his business so, lest by-and-by
+The thing collapses, smirching his good
+     name,
+And he, insolvent, face the world with
+shame."
+
+I heard it all; and something inly said
+That all was true. The daily toil and press
+Had crowded out my hopes of holiness.
+Still, my old self rose, reasoning:
+How can you,
+With strenuous work to do --
+Real slogging work -- say, how can you
+     keep pace
+With leisured folks? Why, you could
+     grow in grace
+If you had time . . . the daily Interview
+Was never meant for those who wash and
+     bake.
+
+But yet a small Voice whispered:
+"For My sake
+Keep tryst with Me!
+There are so many minutes in a day,
+So spare Me ten.
+It shall be proven, then,
+Ten minutes set apart can well repay
+You shall accomplish more
+If you will shut your door
+For ten short minutes just to watch and
+     pray."
+
+"Lord, if I do
+Set ten apart for You"
+(I dared, yes dared, to reason thus with
+     Him)
+"The baker's sure to come;
+Or Jane will call
+To say some visitor is in the hall;
+Or I shall smell the porridge burning, yes,
+And run to stop it in my hastiness.
+There's not ten minutes, Lord, in all the
+     day
+I can be sure of peace in which to watch
+     and pray."
+
+But all that night,
+With calm insistent might,
+That gentle Voice spake softly, lovingly --
+"Keep tryst with Me!
+You have devised a dozen different ways
+Of getting easy meals on washing days;
+You spend much anxious thought on
+     hopeless socks;
+On moving ironmould from tiny frocks;
+'Twas you who found
+A way to make the sugar lumps go round;
+You, who invented ways and means of
+     making
+Nice spicy buns for tea, hot from the baking,
+When margarine was short . . . and can-
+     not you
+Who made the time to join the butter queue
+Make time again for Me?
+Yes, will you not, with all your daily
+     striving,
+Use woman's wit in scheming and con-
+     triving
+To keep that tryst with Me?"
+
+Like ice long bound
+On powdered frosty ground,
+My erring will all suddenly gave way.
+The kind soft wind of His sweet pleading
+     blew,
+And swiftly, silently, before I knew,
+The warm love loosed and ran.
+Life-giving floods began,
+And so most lovingly I answered Him:
+"Lord, yes, I will, and can.
+I will keep tryst with Thee, Lord, come
+     what may!"
+
+ENVOY.
+
+  It is a wondrous and surprising thing
+  How that ten minutes takes the piercing
+     sting
+  From vexing circumstance and poison-
+     ous dart
+  Hurled by the enemy straight at my
+     heart.
+  So, to the woman tempest-tossed and
+     tried
+  By household cares, and hosts of things
+     beside,
+  With all my strength God bids me say
+     to you:
+  "Dear soul, do try the daily Interview!"
+
+
+
+
+
+The Little House
+
+One yestereve, in the waning light,
+When the wind was still and the
+     gloaming bright,
+There came a breath from a far countrie,
+And the ghost of a Little House called
+     to me.
+
+"Have you forgotten me?" "No!" I cried.
+"Your hall was as narrow as this is wide,
+Your roof was leaky, the rain came
+     through
+Till a ceiling fell, on my new frock too!
+
+"In your parlour flooring a loose board hid,
+And wore the carpet, you know it did!
+Your kitchen was small, and the shelves
+     were few,
+While the fireplace smoked -- and you
+     know it's true!"
+
+The little ghost sighed: "Do you quite
+     forget
+My window boxes of mignonette?
+And the sunny room where you used to
+     sew
+When a great hope came to you, long ago?
+
+"Ah, me! How you used to watch the
+     door
+Where a latch-key turned on the stroke
+     of four.
+And you made the tea, and you poured
+     it out
+From an old brown pot with a broken
+     spout
+
+"Now, times have changed. And your
+     footman waits
+With the silver urn, and the fluted plates.
+But the little blind Love with the wings,
+     has flown,
+Who used to sit by your warm hearth-
+     stone."
+
+The little ghost paused. Then "Away!"
+     I said.
+"Back to your place with the quiet dead.
+Back to your place, lest my servants see,
+That the ghost of a Little House calls
+     to me."
+
+
+
+
+
+The House-Mother
+
+Across the town the evening bell is
+     ringing;
+Clear comes the call, through kitchen
+     windows winging!
+
+Lord, knowing Thou art kind,
+I heed Thy call to prayer.
+I have a soul to save;
+A heart which needs, I think, a double
+     share
+Of sweetnesses which noble ladies crave.
+Hope, faith and diligence, and patient
+     care,
+With meekness, grace, and lowliness of
+     mind.
+Lord, wilt Thou grant all these
+To one who prays, but cannot sit at ease?
+
+They do not know,
+The passers-by, who go
+Up to Thy house, with saintly faces set;
+Who throng about Thy seat,
+And sing Thy praises sweet,
+Till vials full of odours cloud Thy feet;
+They do not know . . .
+And, if they knew, then would they greatly
+     care
+That Thy tired handmaid washed the
+     children's hair;
+Or, with red roughened hands, scoured
+     dishes well,
+While through the window called the
+     evening bell?
+And that her seeking soul looks upward
+     yet,
+THEY do not know . . . but THOU wilt
+    not forget
+
+
+
+
+
+A Woman in Hospital
+
+I know it all . . . I know.
+For I am God. I am Jehovah, He
+Who made you what you are; and I can
+     see
+The tears that wet your pillow night by
+     night,
+When nurse has lowered that too-brilliant
+     light;
+When the talk ceases, and the ward grows
+     still,
+And you have doffed your will:
+I know the anguish and the helplessness.
+I know the fears that toss you to and fro.
+And how you wrestle, weariful,
+With hosts of little strings that pull
+About your heart, and tear it so.
+I know.
+
+Lord, do You know
+I had no time to put clean curtains up;
+No time to finish darning all the socks;
+Nor sew clean frilling in the children's
+     frocks?
+And do You know about my Baby's cold?
+And how things are with my sweet three-
+     year-old?
+Will Jane remember right
+Their cough mixture at night?
+And will she ever think
+To brush the kitchen flues, or scrub the
+     sink?
+
+And then, there's John! Poor tired
+     lonely John!
+No one will run to put his slippers on.
+And not a soul but me
+Knows just exactly how he likes his tea.
+It rends my heart to think I cannot go
+And minister to him. . . .
+
+I know. I know.
+
+Then, there are other things,
+Dear Lord . . . more little strings
+That pull my heart. Now Baby feels her
+     feet
+She loves to run outside into the street
+And Jane's hands are so full, she'll never
+     see. . . .
+And I'm quite sure the clean clothes won't
+     be aired --
+At least, not properly.
+And, oh, I can't, I really can't be spared --
+My little house calls so!
+
+I know.
+And I am waiting here to help and bless.
+Lay down your head. Lay down your hope-
+     lessness
+And let Me speak.
+You are so weary, child, you are so weak.
+But let us reason out
+The darkness and the doubt;
+This torturing fear that tosses you about.
+
+I hold the universe. I count the stars.
+And out of shortened lives I build the
+ages. . . .
+
+But, Lord, while such high things Thy
+     thought engages,
+I fear -- forgive me -- lest
+Amid those limitless eternal spaces
+Thou shouldest, in the high and heavenly
+     places,
+Pass over my affairs as things of nought.
+There are so many houses just like mine.
+And I so earth-bound, and Thyself Divine.
+It seems impossible that Thou shouldst
+     care
+Just what my babies wear;
+And what John gets to eat; . . . and
+     can it be
+A circumstance of great concern to Thee
+Whether I live or die?
+
+Have you forgotten then, My child, that I,
+The Infinite, the Limitless, laid down
+The method of existence that I knew,
+And took on Me a nature just like you?
+I laboured day by day
+In the same dogged way
+That you have tackled household tasks.
+     And then,
+Remember, child, remember once again
+Your own beloveds . . . did you really
+     think --
+(Those days you toiled to get their meat
+     and drink,
+And made their clothes, and tried to under-
+     stand
+Their little ailments) -- did you think your
+     hand,
+Your feeble hand, was keeping them from ill?
+I gave them life, and life is more than meat;
+Those little limbs, so comely and so sweet.
+You can make raiment for them, and are glad,
+But can you add
+One cubit to their stature? Yet they grow!
+Oh, child, hands off! Hands off! And
+     leave them so.
+I guarded hitherto, I guard them still.
+
+I have let go at last. I have let go.
+And, oh, the rest it is, dear God, to know
+My dear ones are so safe, for Thou wilt
+     keep.
+Hands off, at last! Now, I can go to
+     sleep.
+
+
+
+
+
+In Convalescence
+
+Not long ago, I prayed for dying
+     grace,
+For then I thought to see Thee face to
+     face.
+
+And now I ask (Lord, 'tis a weakling's
+     cry)
+That Thou wilt give me grace to live, not
+     die.
+
+Such foolish prayers! I know. Yet
+     pray I must.
+Lord help me -- help me not to see the
+     dust!
+
+And not to nag, nor fret because the blind
+Hangs crooked, and the curtain sags be-
+     hind.
+
+But, oh! The kitchen cupboards! What a
+     sight!
+'T'will take at least a month to get them
+     right.
+
+And that last cocoa had a smoky taste,
+And all the milk has boiled away to waste!
+
+And -- no, I resolutely will not think
+About the saucepans, nor about the sink.
+
+These light afflictions are but temporal
+     things --
+To rise above them, wilt Thou lend me
+     wings?
+
+Then I shall smile when Jane, with towzled
+     hair
+(And lumpy gruel!), clatters up the stair.
+
+
+
+
+
+Homesick
+
+I shut my eyes to rest 'em, just a bit
+     ago it seems,
+An' back among the Cotswolds I were
+     wanderin' in me dreams.
+I saw the old grey homestead, with the
+     rickyard set around,
+An' catched the lowin' of the herd, a
+     pleasant, homelike sound.
+Then on I went a-singin', through the
+     pastures where the sheep
+Was lyin' underneath the elms, a-tryin' for
+     to sleep.
+
+An' where the stream was tricklin' by, half
+     stifled by the grass,
+Heaped over thick with buttercups, I saw
+     the corncrake pass.
+For 'twas Summer, Summer, SUMMER!
+     An' the blue forget-me-nots
+Wiped out this dusty city and the smoky
+     chimbley pots.
+I clean forgot My Lady's gown, the
+     dazzlin' sights I've seen;
+I was back among the Cotswolds, where
+     me heart has always been.
+
+Then through the sixteen-acre on I went,
+     a stiffish climb,
+Right to the bridge, where all our sheep
+     comes up at shearin' time.
+There was the wild briar roses hangin'
+     down so pink an' sweet,
+A-droppin' o' their fragrance on the clover
+     at my feet
+An' here me heart stopped beatin', for
+     down by Gatcombe's Wood
+My lad was workin' with his team, as only
+     my lad could!
+
+"COME BACK!" was what the tricklin' brook
+     an' breezes seemed to say.
+"'TIS LONESOME ON THE COTSWOLDS NOW THAT
+     MARY DREW'S AWAY."
+
+An' back again I'm goin' (for me wages
+     has been paid,
+An' they're lookin' through the papers for
+     another kitchen maid).
+Back to the old grey homestead, an' the
+     uplands cool an' green,
+To my lad among the Cotswolds, where
+     me heart has always been!
+
+
+
+
+
+On Washing Day
+
+"I'm going to gran'ma's for a bit
+My mother's got the copper lit;
+An' piles of clothes are on the floor,
+An' steam comes out the wash-house door;
+An' Mrs. Griggs has come, an' she
+Is just as cross as she can be.
+She's had her lunch, and ate a lot;
+I saw her squeeze the coffee-pot.
+An' when I helped her make the starch,
+She said: 'Now, Miss, you just quick
+     march!
+What? Touch them soap-suds if you
+     durst;
+I'll see you in the blue-bag first!'
+An' mother dried my frock, an' said:
+'Come back in time to go to bed.'
+I'm off to gran'ma's, for, you see,
+At home, they can't put up with me.
+
+"But down at gran'ma's 'tis so nice.
+If gran'ma's making currant-cake,
+She'll let me put the ginger spice,
+An' grease the tin, an' watch it bake;
+An' then she says she thinks it fun
+To taste the edges when it's done.
+
+"That's gran'ma's house. Why, hip,
+     hooray!
+My gran'ma's got a washing day;
+For gran'pa's shirts are on the line,
+An' stockings, too -- six, seven, eight, nine!
+She'll let me help her. Yes, she'll tie
+Her apron round to keep me dry;
+An' on her little stool I'll stand
+Up to the wash-tub. 'Twill be grand!
+There's no cross Mrs. Griggs to say,
+'Young Miss is always in the way.'
+An' me and gran'ma will have tea
+At dinner-time -- just her an' me --
+An' eggs, I 'spect, an' treacle rice.
+My goodness! Won't it all be nice?
+
+"Gran'ma, I'm come to spend the day,
+'Cause mother finds me in the way.
+Gran'ma, I'll peg the hankies out;
+Gran'ma, I'll stir the starch about;
+Gran'ma, I'm come, because, you see,
+At home, they can't put up with me."
+
+
+
+
+
+When Baby Strayed
+
+When Baby strayed, it seemed to
+     me,
+Sun, moon and stars waned suddenly.
+
+At once, with frenzied haste, my feet
+Ran up and down the busy street.
+
+If ever in my life I prayed,
+It was the evening Baby strayed.
+
+And yet my great concern was this
+(Not dread of losing Baby's kiss,
+
+And Baby's soft small hand in mine,
+And Baby's comradeship divine),
+
+'Twas BABY'S terror, BABY'S fears!
+Whose hand but mine could dry her
+     tears?
+
+I without Baby? In my need
+I were a piteous soul indeed.
+
+But piteous far, beyond all other,
+A little child without a mother.
+
+And God, in mercy, graciously
+Gave my lost darling back to me.
+
+O high and lofty One!
+THOU couldst have lived to all eternity
+Apart from ME!
+In majesty, upon that emerald throne.
+Thou, with Thy morning stars,
+Thy dawns, with golden bars,
+And all the music of the heavenly train.
+Possessing all things, what hadst Thou to
+     gain
+By seeking me?
+What was I? . . . and, what am I? . . .
+     less than nought.
+And yet Thy mercy sought.
+Yea, Thou hast set my feet
+Upon the way of holiness, and sweet
+It is, to seek Thee daily, unafraid . . .
+
+But (this I learnt the night that Baby
+     strayed)
+Here was Thy chief, Thy great concern
+     for me:
+My desolate estate, apart from Thee!
+
+
+
+
+
+If Only ----
+
+If only dinner cooked itself,
+And groceries grew upon the shelf;
+If children did as they were told,
+And never had a cough or cold;
+And washed their hands, and wiped their
+     boots,
+And never tore their Sunday suits,
+But always tidied up the floor,
+Nor once forgot to shut the door.
+
+If John remembered not to throw
+His papers on the ground. And oh!
+If he would put his pipes away,
+And shake the ashes on the tray
+Instead of on the floor close by;
+And always spread his towel to dry,
+And hung his hat upon the peg,
+And never had bones in his leg.
+
+Then, there's another thing. If Jane
+Would put the matches back again
+Just where she found them, it would be
+A save of time to her and me.
+And if she never did forget
+To put the dustbin out; nor yet
+Contrive to gossip with the baker,
+Nor need ten thunderbolts to wake her.
+
+Ahem! If wishes all came true,
+I don't know what I'd find to do,
+Because if no one made a mess
+There'd be no need of cleanliness.
+And things might work so blissfully,
+In time -- who knows? -- they'd not need
+     me!
+
+And this being so, I fancy whether
+I'll go on keeping things together.
+
+
+
+
+
+Listening
+
+His step? Ah, no; 'tis but the rain
+That hurtles on the window pane.
+Let's draw the curtains close and sit
+Beside the fire awhile and knit.
+Two purl -- two plain. A well-shaped
+     sock,
+And warm. (I thought I heard a knock,
+But 'twas the slam of Jones's door.)
+Yes, good Scotch yarn is far before
+The fleecy wools -- a different thing,
+And best for wear. (Was that his ring?)
+No. 'Tis the muffin man I see;
+We'll have threepennyworth for tea.
+Two plain -- two purl; that heel is neat.
+(I hear his step far down the street.)
+Two purl -- two plain. The sock can
+     wait;
+I'll make the tea. (He's at the gate!)
+
+
+
+
+
+The Dear Folks in
+Devon
+
+Back in the dear old country 'tis Christ-
+     mas, and to-night
+I'm thinking of the mistletoe and holly
+     berries bright.
+The smoke above our chimbley pots I'd
+     dearly love to see,
+And those dear folks down in Devon,
+     how they'll talk and think of me.
+
+Owd Ben'll bring the letters, Christmas
+     morn, and if there's one
+As comes across from Canada straight
+     from their absent son,
+My Mother's hands'll tremble, and my
+     Dad'll likely say:
+"Don't seem like Christmas time no more,
+     with our dear lad away."
+
+I can see 'em carve the Christmas beef,
+     and Brother Jimmy's wife
+Will say her never tasted such, no, not in
+     all her life.
+And Sister Martha's Christmas pies melt
+     in your mouth, 'tis true,
+But 'twas Mother made the puddin', as
+     mothers always do!
+
+Ah me! If I could just have wings, and
+     in the dimsey light
+Go stealing up the cobbled path this
+     lonesome Christmas night,
+Lift up the latch with gentle hand -- My!
+     What a shout there'd be!
+From those dear folks down in Devon!
+     What a welcomin' for me!
+
+
+
+
+
+The Reason
+
+   "Why shouldest Thou be as a wayfaring man, that
+turneth aside to tarry for a night?" -- Jer. xiv. 8.
+
+Nay, do not get the venison pasty
+     out;
+I shall not greatly put myself about
+Hungry, he may be; yes, and we shall
+     spare
+Some bread and cheese, 'tis truly whole-
+     some fare.
+We have to-morrow's dinner still to find;
+It's well for you I have a frugal mind.
+
+Not the best bed! No, no. Whatever
+     next?
+Why with such questionings should I be
+     vext?
+The man is naught to us; why should
+     we care?
+The little attic room will do; 'tis bare,
+But he'll be gone before to-morrow's light;
+He has but come to tarry for a night.
+
+I shall not speak with him. Oh, no, not I,
+Lest I should pity overmuch, or buy
+Some paltry ware of his. Nay, I'll to
+     bed,
+And he can sup alone, well warmed and
+     fed;
+'Tis much to take him in a night like this.
+Why should I fret me with concerns of
+     his?
+
+Grey morning came, and at the break of
+     day
+The Man rose up and went upon his way
+
+
+
+
+
+Two Women
+
+   "I beseech Euodias, and beseech Syntyche, that they
+be of the same mind in the Lord" -- Phil. iv. 2,
+
+EUODIAS.
+
+But if Paul heard her tattlings, I am
+     sure
+He never would expect me to endure.
+There is a something in her very face
+Antagonistic to the work of grace.
+And even when I would speak graciously
+Somehow, Syntyche's manner ruffles me.
+
+SYNTYCHE.
+
+No, not for worlds! Euodias has no
+     mind;
+So slow she is, so spiritually blind.
+Her tongue is quite unbridled, yet she
+     says
+She grieves to see my aggravating ways
+Ah, no one but myself knows perfectly
+How odious Euodias can be!
+
+EUODIAS.
+
+Yet, "in the Lord." Ah, that's another
+     thing!
+
+SYNTYCHE.
+
+Yet, "in the Lord." That alters it in-
+     deed.
+
+EUODIAS.
+
+For His sake I'll endure her whispering
+
+SYNTYCHE.
+
+For His sake I'll consent to let her lead.
+
+EUODIAS.
+
+Lord, teach me to forbear; yes, day by
+     day.
+
+SYNTYCHE.
+
+Lord, keep me gentle now, and all the
+     way.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Prize Fight
+
+   "I am a boxer, who does not inflict blows on the air,
+but I hit hard and straight at my own body." -- 1 Cor.
+ix. 26 (WEYMOUTH'S Translation).
+
+'T'was breakfast time, and outside in
+     the street
+The factory men went by with hurrying
+     feet.
+And on the bridge, in dim December light,
+The newsboys shouted of the great prize
+     fight.
+Then, as I dished the bacon, and served
+     out
+The porridge, all our youngsters gave
+     a shout.
+The letter-box had clicked, and through
+     the din
+The Picture News was suddenly pushed in.
+
+John showed the lads the pictures, and
+     explained
+Just how the fight took place, and what
+     was gained
+By that slim winner. Then, he looked at me
+As I sat, busy, pouring out the tea:
+"Your mother is a boxer, rightly styled.
+She hits the air sometimes, though," and
+     John smiled.
+"Yet she fights on." Young Jack, with
+     widened eyes
+Said: "Dad, how soon will mother get a
+     prize?"
+
+We laughed. And yet it set me thinking,
+     how
+I beat the air, because a neighbour's cow
+Munched at our early cabbages, and ate
+The lettuce up, and tramped my mignon-
+     ette!
+And many a time I kicked against the
+     pricks
+Because the little dog at number six
+Disturbed my rest. And then, how cross
+     I got
+When Jane seemed discontented with her
+     lot.
+Until poor John in desperation said
+He wearied of the theme -- and went to
+     bed!
+
+And how I vexed myself that day, when he
+Brought people unexpectedly for tea,
+Because the table-cloth was old and
+     stained,
+And not a single piece of cake remained.
+And how my poor head ached! Because,
+     well there!
+It uses lots of strength to beat the air!
+
+"I am a boxer!" Here and now I pray
+For grace to hit the self-life every day.
+And when the old annoyance comes once
+     more
+And the old temper rises sharp and sore,
+I shall hit hard and straight, O Tender-
+     Wise,
+And read approval in Thy loving eyes.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Home Lights
+
+"In my father's house!" The words
+Bring sweet cadence to my ears.
+Wandering thoughts, like homing birds,
+Fly all swiftly down the years,
+To that wide casement, where I always see
+Bright love-lamps leaning out to welcome
+     me.
+
+Sweet it was, how sweet to go
+To the worn, familiar door.
+No need to stand a while, and wait,
+Outside the well-remembered gate;
+No need to knock;
+The easy lock
+Turned almost of itself, and so
+My spirit was "at home" once more.
+And then, within, how good to find
+The same cool atmosphere of peace,
+Where I, a tired child, might cease
+To grieve, or dread,
+Or toil for bread.
+I could forget
+The dreary fret.
+The strivings after hopes too high,
+I let them every one go by.
+The ills of life, the blows unkind,
+These fearsome things were left behind.
+
+ENVOY.
+
+  O trembling soul of mine,
+  See how God's mercies shine!
+  When thou shalt rise,
+  And, stripped of earth, shall stand
+  Within an Unknown Land;
+  Alone, where no familiar thing
+  May bring familiar comforting;
+  Look up! 'Tis but thy Father's
+      House! And, see
+  His love-lamps leaning out to welcome
+      thee!
+
+
+
+
+
+To an Old Teapot
+
+Now from the dust of half-forgotten
+     things,
+You rise to haunt me at the year's Spring-
+     cleaning,
+And bring to memory dim imaginings
+Of mystic meaning.
+
+No old-time potter handled you, I ween,
+Nor yet were you of gold or silver molten;
+No Derby stamp, nor Worcester, can be
+     seen,
+Nor Royal Doulton.
+
+You never stood to grace the princely
+     board
+Of monarchs in some Oriental palace.
+Your lid is chipped, your chubby side is
+     scored
+As if in malice.
+
+I hesitate to say it, but your spout
+Is with unhandsome rivets held together --
+Mute witnesses of treatment meted out
+In regions nether.
+
+O patient sufferer of many bumps!
+I ask it gently -- shall the dustbin hold
+     you?
+And will the dust-heap, with its cabbage
+     stumps,
+At last enfold you?
+
+It ought. And yet with gentle hands I
+     place
+You with my priceless Delft and Dresden
+     china,
+For sake of one who loved your homely
+     face
+In days diviner.
+
+
+
+
+
+To a Rebellious
+Daughter
+
+You call authority "a grievous thing."
+With careless hands you snap the
+     leading string,
+And, for a frolic (so it seems to you),
+Put off the old love, and put on the new.
+
+For "What does Mother know of love?"
+     you say.
+"Did her soul ever thrill?
+Did little tendernesses ever creep
+Into her dreams, and over-ride her will?
+Did her eyes shine, or her heart ever leap
+As my heart leaps to-day?
+I, who am young; who long to try my
+     wings!
+
+How should she understand,
+She, with her calm cool hand?
+She never felt such yearnings? And,
+     beside,
+It's clear I can't be tied
+For ever to my mother's apron strings."
+
+There are Infinities of Knowledge, dear.
+And there are mysteries, not yet made
+     clear
+To you, the Uninitiate. . . . Life's book
+Is open, yes; but you may only look
+At its first section. Youth
+Is part, not all, the truth.
+It is impossible that you should see
+The end from the beginning perfectly.
+
+You answer: "Even so.
+But how can Mother know,
+Who meditates upon the price of bacon?
+On 'liberties' the charwoman has taken,
+And on the laundry's last atrocities?
+She knows her cookery book,
+And how a joint of English meat should
+     look.
+But all such things as these
+Make up her life. She dwells in tents,
+     but I
+In a vast temple open to the sky."
+
+Yet, time was, when that Mother stooped
+     to learn
+The language written in your infant face.
+For years she walked your pace,
+And none but she interpreted your chatter.
+Who else felt interest in such pitter-patter?
+Or, weary, joined in all your games with
+     zest,
+And managed with a minimum of rest?
+Now, is it not your turn
+To bridge the gulf, to span the gap be-
+     tween you?
+To-day, before Death's angel over-lean
+     you,
+Before your chance is gone?
+This is worth thinking on.
+
+"Are mothers blameless, then?" Nay,
+     dearie, nay.
+Nor even tactful, always. Yet there may
+Come some grey dawning in the by
+     and by,
+When, no more brave, nor sure, nor strong,
+     you'll cry
+Aloud to God, for that despised thing,
+The old dear comfort -- Mother's apron
+     string.
+
+
+
+
+
+For Mothering!
+
+Up to the Hall, my lady there'll wear
+     her satin gown,
+For little Miss and Master'll be coming
+     down from town.
+Oh ay, the childern's coming! The
+     CHILDERN did I say?
+Of course, they're man and woman grown,
+     this many and many a day.
+But still, my lady's mouth do smile, and
+     squire looks fit to sing,
+As Master John and Miss Elaine is coming
+     Mothering.
+
+Then down to Farmer Westacott's, there's
+     doings fine and grand,
+Because young Jake is coming home from
+     sea, you understand.
+Put into port but yesternight, and when
+     he steps ashore,
+'Tis coming home the laddie is, to Somer-
+     set once more.
+And so her's baking spicy cakes, and stir-
+     ring raisins in,
+To welcome of her only chick, who's
+     coming Mothering.
+
+And what of we? And ain't we got no
+     childern for to come?
+Well, yes! There's Sam and Henery,
+     and they'll be coming home.
+And Ned is very nigh six foot, and Joe is
+     six foot three!
+But childern still to my good man, and
+     childern still to me!
+And all the vi'lets seem to know, and all
+     the thrushes sing,
+As how our Kate, and Bess and Flo is
+     coming Mothering.
+
+
+
+
+
+Little Fan
+
+When little Fanny came to town, I
+     felt as I could sing!
+She were the sprackest little maid, the
+     sharpest, pertest thing.
+Her mother were as proud as punch, and
+     as for I -- well, there!
+I never see sich gert blue eyes, I never
+     see sich hair!
+"If all the weans in Somerset," says I,
+     "was standin' here,
+Not one could hold a candle light, 'long-
+     side our little dear."
+
+Now FANNY'S little Fan have come! She's
+     clingin' round my knees,
+She's asking me for sups of tea, and bites
+     of bread and cheese.
+She's climbing into grandma's bed, she's
+     stroking grandma's face.
+She's tore my paper into bits and strawed
+     it round the place.
+"If all the weans in all the world," says
+     I, "was standin' here,
+Not one could hold a farthin' dip to
+     Fanny's little dear!"
+For Fanny's little Fanny -- oh, she's took
+     the heart of me!
+'Tis childern's childern is the CROWN of
+     humble folk like we!
+
+
+
+
+
+The Naughty Day
+
+I've had a naughty day to-day.
+   I scrunched a biscuit in my hair,
+And dipped my feeder in the milk,
+   And spread my rusk upon a chair.
+
+When mother put me in my bath,
+   I tossed the water all about,
+And popped the soap upon my head,
+   And threw the sponge and flannel out.
+
+I wouldn't let her put my hand
+   Inside the arm-hole of my vest;
+I held the sleeve until she said
+   I really never SHOULD be dressed.
+
+And while she made the beds, I found
+   Her tidy, and took out the hairs;
+And then I got the water-can
+   And tipped it headlong down the stairs.
+
+I crawled along the kitchen floor,
+   And got some coal out of the box,
+And drew black pictures on the walls,
+   And wiped my fingers on my socks.
+
+Oh, this HAS been a naughty day!
+   That's why they've put me off to bed.
+"He CAN'T get into mischief there,
+   Perhaps we'll have some peace," they
+     said.
+
+They put the net across my cot,
+   Or else downstairs again I'd creep.
+But, see, I'll suck the counterpane
+   To PULP before I go to sleep!
+
+
+
+
+
+To a Little White Bird
+
+Into the world you came, and I was
+     dumb,
+  Because "God did it," so the wise ones
+     said;
+I wonder sometimes "Did you really
+     come?"
+  And "Are you truly . . . DEAD?"
+
+Thus you went out -- alone and uncaressed;
+  O sweet, soft thing, in all your infant
+     grace,
+I never held you in my arms, nor pressed
+  Warm kisses on your face!
+
+But, in the Garden of the Undefiled,
+  My soul will claim you . . . you, and
+     not another;
+I shall hold out my arms, and say "MY
+     CHILD!"
+And you will call me "MOTHER!"
+
+
+
+
+
+Because
+
+(PSALM CXVI.)
+
+Because He heard my voice, and
+     answered me,
+Because He listened, ah, so patiently,
+In those dark days, when sorrowful, alone,
+I knelt with tears, and prayed Him for a
+     stone;
+Because He said me "Nay," and then in-
+     stead,
+Oh, wonderful sweet truth! He gave me
+     bread,
+Set my heart singing all in sweet accord;
+Because of this, I love -- I love the Lord!
+
+
+
+
+
+When He Comes
+
+"When He comes!
+ My sweetest 'When'!"
+                    C. ROSSETTI.
+
+Thus may it be (I thought) at some
+     day's close,
+Some lilac-haunted eve, when every rose
+Breathes forth its incense. May He find
+     me there,
+In holy leisure, lifting hands of prayer,
+In some sweet garden place,
+To catch the first dear wonder of His Face!
+
+Or, in my room above,
+In silent meditation of His love,
+  My soul illumined with a rapture rare.
+It would be sweet, if even then, these eyes
+Might glimpse Him coming in the East-
+     ern skies,
+  And be caught up to meet Him in the
+     air.
+
+But now! Ah, now, the days
+Rush by their hurrying ways!
+No longer know I vague imaginings,
+For every hour has wings.
+Yet my heart watches . . . as I work I
+     say,
+All simply, to Him: "Come! And if to-day,
+Then wilt Thou find me thus: just as I
+     am --
+Tending my household; stirring goose-
+     berry jam;
+Or swiftly rinsing tiny vests and hose,
+With puzzled forehead patching some one's
+     clothes;
+Guiding small footsteps, swift to hear, and
+     run,
+From early dawn till setting of the sun."
+
+And whensoe'er He comes, I'll rise and go,
+Yes, all the gladlier that He found me so.
+
+
+
+
+
+Part II
+OUT OF DOORS
+
+
+
+
+Early Spring
+
+Quick through the gates of Fairyland
+   The South Wind forced his way.
+'Twas his to make the Earth forget
+   Her grief of yesterday.
+"'Tis mine," cried he, "to bring her joy!"
+   And on his lightsome feet
+In haste he slung the snowdrop bells,
+Pushed past the Fairy sentinels,
+   And out with laughter sweet.
+
+Clear flames of Crocus glimmered on
+   The shining way he went.
+He whispered to the trees strange tales
+   Of wondrous sweet intent,
+When, suddenly, his witching voice
+   With timbre rich and rare,
+Rang through the woodlands till it cleft
+Earth's silent solitudes, and left
+   A Dream of Roses there!
+
+
+
+
+
+The Witness
+
+The Master of the Garden said;
+"Who, now the Earth seems cold
+     and dead,
+Will by his fearless witnessing
+Hold men's hearts for the tardy spring?"
+
+"Not yet. I am but half awake,"
+All drowsily the Primrose spake.
+And fast the sleeping Daffodils
+Had folded up their golden frills.
+
+"Indeed," the frail Anemone
+Said softly, "'tis too cold for me."
+Wood Hyacinths, all deeply set,
+Replied: "No ice has melted yet."
+
+When suddenly, with smile so bright,
+Up sprang a Winter Aconite,
+And to the Master joyfully
+She cried: "I will the witness be."
+
+
+
+
+
+In Somerset
+
+In Somerset they guide the plough
+From early dawn till twilight now.
+The good red earth smells sweeter yet,
+Behind the plough, in Somerset.
+The celandines round last year's mow
+Blaze out . . . and with his old-time vow
+The South Wind woos the Violet,
+In Somerset.
+
+Then, every brimming dyke and trough
+Is laughing wide with ripples now,
+And oh, 'tis easy to forget
+That wintry winds can sigh and sough,
+When thrushes chant on every bough
+In Somerset!
+
+
+
+
+
+Song of a Woodland
+Stream
+
+Silent was I, and so still,
+As day followed day.
+Imprisoned until
+King Frost worked his will.
+Held fast like a vice,
+In his cold hand of ice,
+For fear kept me silent, and lo
+He had wrapped me around and about
+     with a mantle of snow.
+
+But sudden there spake
+One greater than he.
+Then my heart was awake,
+And my spirit ran free.
+
+At His bidding my bands fell apart, He
+     had burst them asunder.
+I can feel the swift wind rushing by me,
+     once more the old wonder
+Of quickening sap stirs my pulses -- I
+     shout in my gladness,
+Forgetting the sadness,
+For the Voice of the Lord fills the air!
+
+And forth through the hollow I go, where
+     in glad April weather,
+The trees of the forest break out into
+     singing together.
+And here the frail windflowers will cluster,
+     with young ferns uncurling,
+Where broader and deeper my waters go
+     eddying, whirling,
+To meet the sweet Spring on her journey
+     -- His servant to be,
+Whose word set me free!
+
+
+Luggage in Advance
+
+"The Fairies must have come," I
+     said,
+"For through the moist leaves, brown and
+     dead,
+The Primroses are pushing up,
+And here's a scarlet Fairy-cup.
+They must have come, because I see
+A single Wood Anemone,
+The flower that everybody knows
+The Fairies use to scent their clothes.
+And hark! The South Wind blowing, fills
+The trumpets of the Daffodils.
+They MUST have come!"
+
+                            Then loud to me
+Sang from a budding cherry tree,
+A cheerful Thrush . . . "I say! I say!
+The Fairy Folk are on their way.
+Look out! Look out! Beneath your feet,
+Are all their treasures: Sweet! Sweet!
+     Sweet!
+They could not carry them, you see,
+Those caskets crammed with witchery,
+So ready for the first Spring dance,
+They sent their Luggage in Advance!"
+
+
+
+
+
+At the Cross Roads
+
+There I halted. Further down the
+     hollow
+Stood the township, where my errand lay.
+Firm my purpose, till a voice cried
+     (Follow!
+Come this way -- I tell you -- come this
+     way!)
+
+Silence, Thrush! You know I think of
+     buying
+A Spring-tide hat; my frock is worn and
+     old.
+So to the shops I go. What's that you're
+     crying?
+(Here! Come here! And gather primrose
+     gold.)
+Well, yes. Some day I will; but time is
+     going.
+I haste to purchase silks and satins fair.
+I'm all in rags. (The Lady's Smock is
+     showing
+Up yonder, in the little coppice there.)
+
+And wood anemones spread out their
+     laces;
+Each celandine has donned a silken gown;
+The violets are lifting shy sweet faces.
+(And there's a chiff-chaff, soft, and slim, and
+     brown.)
+
+But what about my hat? (The bees are
+     humming.)
+And my new frock? (The hawthorn's
+     budding free!
+Sweet! Oh, so sweet!) Well, have your
+     way. I'm coming!
+And who's to blame for that? (Why, me!
+     Me! Me!)
+
+
+
+
+
+Summer met Me
+
+Summer met me in the glade,
+   With a host of fair princesses,
+Golden iris, foxgloves staid,
+   Sunbeams flecked their gorgeous dresses.
+Roses followed in her train,
+   Creamy elder-flowers beset me,
+Singing, down the scented lane,
+   Summer met me!
+
+Summer met me! Harebells rang,
+   Honeysuckle clustered near,
+As the royal pageant sang
+   Songs enchanting to the ear.
+Rainy days may come apace,
+   Nevermore to grieve or fret me,
+Since, in all her radiant grace,
+   Summer met me!
+
+
+
+
+
+The Carrier
+
+"Owd John's got past his work," said
+     they,
+Last week as ever was -- "don't pay
+To send by him. He's stoopid, too,
+And brings things what won't never do.
+We'll send by post, he is that slow.
+And that owd hoss of his can't go."
+
+But 'smornin', well, 'twas fun to see
+The gentlefolks run after we.
+Squire's lady stopped I in the lane,
+"Oh," says she, "goin' to town again?
+You'll not mind calling into Bings
+To fetch my cakes and buns and things?
+I've got a party comin' on,
+And nought to eat . . . so, DO 'ee, John."
+
+Then, up the street, who should I see,
+But old Mam Bessant hail'n' me.
+And Doctor's wife, and Mrs. Higgs
+Was wantin' vittles for their pigs,
+And would I bring some? (Well, what
+     nex'?)
+And Granny Dunn has broke her specs,
+And wants 'em mended up in town,
+So would John call and bring 'em down
+To-night . . . ? and so the tale goes on,
+'Tis, "Sure you will, now DO 'ee, John."
+
+Well, 'tis a hevil wind that blows
+Nobody any good; it shows
+As owd John haves his uses yet,
+Though now and then he do forget.
+Gee up, owd gal. When strikes is on,
+They're glad of pore owd stoopid John.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Lad's Love by the
+Gate
+
+Down in the dear West Country,
+     there's a garden where I know
+  The Spring is rioting this hour, though
+     I am far away --
+Where all the glad flower-faces are old
+     loves of long ago,
+  And each in its accustomed place is
+     blossoming to-day.
+
+The lilac drops her amethysts upon the
+     mossy wall,
+  While in her boughs a cheerful thrush
+     is calling to his mate.
+Dear breath of mignonette and stocks!
+     I love you, know you all.
+  And, oh, the fragrant spices from the
+     lad's love by the gate!
+
+Kind wind from the West Country, wet
+     wind, but scented so,
+  That straight from my dear garden
+     you seem but lately come,
+Just tell me of the yellow broom, the
+     guelder rose's snow,
+  And of the tangled clematis where
+     myriad insects hum.
+
+Oh, is there any heartsease left, or any
+     rosemary?
+  And in their own green solitudes, say,
+     do the lilies wait?
+I knew it! Gentle wind, but once --
+     speak low and tenderly --
+  How fares it -- tell me truly -- with the
+     lad's love by the gate?
+
+
+
+
+
+The Thrush
+
+Across the land came a magic word
+  When the earth was bare and
+     lonely,
+And I sit and sing of the joyous spring,
+  For 'twas I who heard, I only!
+Then dreams came by, of the gladsome
+     days,
+  Of many a wayside posy;
+For a crocus peeps where the wild rose
+     sleeps,
+  And the willow wands are rosy!
+
+Oh! the time to be! When the paths
+     are green,
+  When the primrose-gold is lying
+'Neath the hazel spray, where the catkins
+     sway,
+  And the dear south wind comes sigh-
+     ing.
+
+My mate and I, we shall build a nest,
+  So snug and warm and cosy,
+When the kingcups gleam on the meadow
+     stream,
+  Where the willow wands are rosy!
+
+
+
+
+
+In Dorset Dear
+
+In Dorset Dear they're making hay
+In just the old West Country way.
+With fork and rake and old-time gear
+They make the hay in Dorset Dear.
+From early morn till twilight grey
+They toss and turn and shake the hay.
+And all the countryside is gay
+With roses on the fallen may,
+For 'tis the hay-time of the year
+In Dorset Dear.
+
+The loaded waggons wend their way
+Across the pasture-lands, and stay
+Beside the hedge where foxgloves peer;
+And ricks that shall be fashioned here
+Will be the sweetest stuff, they say,
+In Dorset Dear!
+
+
+
+
+
+The Flight of the Fairies
+
+There's a rustle in the woodlands,
+     and a sighing in the breeze,
+For the Little Folk are busy in the bushes
+     and the trees;
+They are packing up their treasures, every
+     one with nimble hand,
+Ready for the coming journey back to
+     sunny Fairyland.
+
+They have gathered up the jewels from
+     their beds of mossy green,
+With all the dewy diamonds that summer
+     morns have seen;
+The silver from the lichen and the
+     powdered gold dust, too,
+Where the buttercups have flourished and
+     the dandelions grew.
+
+They packed away the birdies' songs,
+     then, lest we should be sad,
+They left the Robin's carol out, to make
+     the winter glad;
+They packed the fragrance of the flowers,
+     then, lest we should forget,
+Out of the pearly scented box they
+     dropped a Violet.
+
+Then o'er a leafy carpet, by the silent
+     woods they came,
+Where the golden bracken lingered and
+     the maples were aflame.
+On the stream the starlight shimmered, o'er
+     their wings the moonbeams shone,
+Music filtered through the forest -- and the
+     Little Folk were gone!
+
+
+
+
+
+The Street Player
+
+The shopping had been tedious, and
+     the rain
+Came pelting down as she turned home
+     again.
+
+The motor-bus swirled past with rush and
+     whirr,
+Nought but its fumes of petrol left for
+     her.
+
+The bloaters in her basket, and the cheese
+Malodorously mixed themselves with
+     these.
+
+And all seemed wrong. The world was
+     drab and grey
+As the slow minutes wept themselves
+     away.
+
+And then, athwart the noises of the street,
+A violin flung out an Irish air.
+
+"I'll take you home again, Kathleen."
+     Ah, sweet,
+How tender-sweet those lilting phrases
+     were!
+
+They soothed away the weariness, and
+     brought
+Such peace to one worn woman, over-
+     wrought,
+
+That she forgot the things which vexed
+     her so:
+The too outrageous price of calico,
+
+The shop-girl's look of pitying insolence
+Because she paused to count the dwindling
+     pence.
+
+The player stopped. But the rapt vision
+     stayed.
+That woman faced life's worries unafraid.
+
+The sugar shortage now had ceased to be
+An insurmountable calamity.
+
+Her kingdom was not bacon, no, nor
+     butter,
+But things more costly still, too rare to
+     utter.
+
+And, over chimney-pots, so bare and tall,
+The sun set gloriously, after all.
+
+
+
+
+
+On All Souls' Eve
+
+Oh, the garden ways are lonely!
+Winds that bluster, winds that
+     shout,
+Battle with the strong laburnum,
+Toss the sad brown leaves about.
+In the gay herbaceous border,
+Now a scene of wild disorder,
+The last dear hollyhock has flamed his
+     crimson glory out.
+
+Yet, upon this night of longing,
+Souls are all abroad, they say.
+Will they come, the dazzling blossoms,
+That were here but yesterday?
+Will the ghosts of radiant roses
+And my sheltered lily-closes
+Hold once more their shattered fragrance
+     now November's on her way?
+
+Wallflowers, surely you'll remember,
+Pinks, recall it, will you not?
+How I loved and watched and tended,
+Made this ground a hallowed spot:
+Pansies, with the soft meek faces,
+Harebells, with a thousand graces:
+Dear dead loves, I wait and listen. Tell
+     me, have you quite forgot?
+
+HUSH! THEY COME! For down the path-
+     way
+Steals a fragrance honey-sweet.
+Larkspurs, lilies, stocks, and roses,
+Hasten now my heart to greet.
+Stay, oh, stay! My hands would hold
+you . . .
+But the arms that would enfold you
+Crush the bush of lad's love growing in
+     the dusk beside my feet.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Log Fire
+
+In her last hour of life the tree
+Gave up her glorious memories,
+Wild scent of wood anemone,
+The sapphire blue of April skies.
+
+With faint but ever-strength'ning flame,
+The dew-drenched hyacinthine spires
+Were lost, as red-gold bracken came,
+With maple bathed in living fires.
+
+Grey smoke of ancient clematis
+Towards the silver birch inclined,
+And deep in thorny fastnesses
+The coral bryony entwined.
+
+Then softly through the dusky room
+They strayed, fair ghosts of other days,
+With breath like early cherry bloom,
+With tender eyes and gentle ways.
+
+They glimmered on the sombre walls,
+They danced upon the oaken floor,
+Till through the loudly silent halls
+Joy reigned majestical once more.
+
+Up blazed the fire, and, dazzling clear,
+One rapturous Spirit radiant stood.
+'Twas you at last! Yes, YOU, my dear.
+We two were back in Gatcombe Wood!
+
+
+
+
+
+God save the King
+
+GOD SAVE OUR GRACIOUS KING. (It
+     seems
+The Church is full of bygone dreams.)
+
+LONG LIVE OUR NOBLE KING. (My own,
+'Tis hard to stand here all alone.)
+
+GOD SAVE THE KING. (But, sweetheart, you
+Were always brave to dare and do.)
+
+SEND HIM VICTORIOUS. (For then,
+My darling will come home again!)
+
+HAPPY AND GLORIOUS ('Twill be
+Like Heaven to him -- and what to me?)
+
+LONG TO REIGN OVER US. (My dear!
+And we'd been wedded one short year!)
+
+GOD SAVE OUR KING. (And Lord, I pray
+Keep MY King safe this very day.)
+
+Forgive us, thou -- great England's kingly
+     King
+That thus do women National Anthems
+     sing.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman, by Fay Inchfawn
+
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