THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER
 
 I RISE in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
 Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
 And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
 Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
 And the young lie long and dream in their bed
 Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
 And their ~y goes over in idleness,
 And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:
 While I must work because I am old,
 And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.