 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
But Misses Cain was a woman that'd be
Always for order and decency.
She wasn' strict, so much to speak,
But pitiful, and lovin', and meek:
And when that woman was in a place
You'd think there couldn' be nothin' but peace—
It seemed to breathe from her very skin—
The pure and white astonishin'!
She wasn' a stirrin' woman at all,
Nor given to scouldin', and hadn' no call;
For the woman had only just to sit
In any room, and you'd see it lit
With a sóft sweet light, that was just the holy
She looked, and the pure; and all sin and folly
And dirt, and evil talk, was driven
From her; and her smile was like an angel in heaven.
Do you believe, if a picture of Christ was hung
Somewhere, that a fellow could do what was wrong
Before it at all? I don't think he would.
But we're told these Romans——but what's the good?
God knows the heart; and I don't like to be sayin'
Too much, you know; but Missis Cain—
Dear me! it's no use! wasn' she a Shimmin
Of Ballarat?—most splendid women!
Always for order and decency.
She wasn' strict, so much to speak,
But pitiful, and lovin', and meek:
And when that woman was in a place
You'd think there couldn' be nothin' but peace—
It seemed to breathe from her very skin—
The pure and white astonishin'!
She wasn' a stirrin' woman at all,
Nor given to scouldin', and hadn' no call;
For the woman had only just to sit
In any room, and you'd see it lit
With a sóft sweet light, that was just the holy
She looked, and the pure; and all sin and folly
And dirt, and evil talk, was driven
From her; and her smile was like an angel in heaven.
Do you believe, if a picture of Christ was hung
Somewhere, that a fellow could do what was wrong
Before it at all? I don't think he would.
But we're told these Romans——but what's the good?
God knows the heart; and I don't like to be sayin'
Too much, you know; but Missis Cain—
Dear me! it's no use! wasn' she a Shimmin
Of Ballarat?—most splendid women!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |