 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
A FACE IN THE TONGS.
A child's round face in the tongs;
She is rubbing the brasses bright,
While merry old-fashioned nursery-songs
She croons with a child's delight.
She is rubbing the brasses bright,
While merry old-fashioned nursery-songs
She croons with a child's delight.
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She sees in the glittering sphere
Her broadened baby-face
Smiling back on itself with a wordless cheer,
And filling the globe-like space.
Her broadened baby-face
Smiling back on itself with a wordless cheer,
And filling the globe-like space.
Little friend, by my name once known,
I am rubbing the tongs to-day;
But the face that I gaze on you would not own,
It has lost your child-look gay.
I am rubbing the tongs to-day;
But the face that I gaze on you would not own,
It has lost your child-look gay.
Oh, your world was golden and glad:
Your happy heart was enough,
Though that and the sunshine were all you had,
And earth underfoot was rough.
Your happy heart was enough,
Though that and the sunshine were all you had,
And earth underfoot was rough.
But one thing I learned from you
I have not forgotten, quite;
No pleasanter work can a mortal do
Than to keep one small world bright.
I have not forgotten, quite;
No pleasanter work can a mortal do
Than to keep one small world bright.
And, thinking about you, dear,
The face in the tongs has smiled;
In a dream I went back to your shining sphere,
And played with myself, a child.
The face in the tongs has smiled;
In a dream I went back to your shining sphere,
And played with myself, a child.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |