Page:The Land of Heart's Desire, Yeats, 1894.djvu/35

Rh .

You are a dear child;

The mother was quite cross before you came.

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She is the child of gentle people; look

At her white hands and at her pretty dress.

I've brought you some new milk, but wait awhile,

And I will put it by the fire to warm,

For things well fitted for poor folk like us

Would never please a high-born child like you.

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Old mother, my old mother, the green dawn

Brightens above while you blow up the fire;

And evening finds you spreading the white cloth.

The young may lie in bed and dream and hope,

But you work on because your heart is old.

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The young are idle.