Page:Pieces People Ask For.djvu/202

84 "You will see that my breakfast is piping hot,
 * And rub the clothes to a snowy whiteness;

Make golden butter and snowy rolls,
 * And polish things to a shining brightness;

Will darn my stockings, and mend my coats,
 * And see that the buttons are sewed on tightly :

You will keep things cheerful and neat and sweet,
 * That home's altar-fires may still burn brightly.

"You will read me at evening the daily news,
 * The tedious winter nights beguiling,

And never forget that the sweetest face
 * Is a cheerful face that's always smiling.

In short, you'll arrange in a general way
 * For a sort of sublunary heaven;

For home, dear Bessie, say what we may,
 * Is the highest sphere to a woman given."

The lark sang out to the bending sky,
 * The bobolink piped in the nodding rushes,

And out of the tossing clover-blooms
 * Came the sweet, clear song of the meadow-thrushes.

And Bessie, listening, paused a while,
 * Then said, with a sly glance at her neighbor,

"But John—do you mean—that is to say,
 * What shall I get for all this labor?

"To be nurse, companion, and servant girl,
 * To make home's altar-fires burn brightly;

To wash and iron and scrub and cook,
 * And always be cheerful, neat, and sprightly;

To give up liberty, home, and friends,
 * Nay, even the name of a mother's giving,—

To do all this for one's board and clothes,
 * Why, the life of an angel isn't worth living!"

And Bessie gayly went her way
 * Down through the fields of scented clover,

But never again since that summer day
 * Has she won a glance from her rustic lover.

The lark sings out to the bending sky,
 * The clouds sail on as white as ever;

The clovers toss in the summer wind,
 * But Bessie has lost that chance forever.