 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.
“How are you so cheerful,
Gentle Edith Lane!
Be it bright or cloudy,
Fall of dew or rain,
In that lonely school-house,
Patiently you stay,
Teaching simple children,
All the livelong day.”
Gentle Edith Lane!
Be it bright or cloudy,
Fall of dew or rain,
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Patiently you stay,
Teaching simple children,
All the livelong day.”
“Teaching simple children?
I am simple, too:
So we learn together
Lessons plain as true,
From this thumb-worn Bible,
Full of love's best lore;
Or, to read another,
Just unlatch the door.
I am simple, too:
So we learn together
Lessons plain as true,
From this thumb-worn Bible,
Full of love's best lore;
Or, to read another,
Just unlatch the door.
“Can I but be cheerful
While I bid them look,
Through the sunny pages
Of each opening book?—
Showing tracks of angels,
On the footworn sod;
Listening to the music
Nature makes to God.”
While I bid them look,
Through the sunny pages
Of each opening book?—
Showing tracks of angels,
On the footworn sod;
Listening to the music
Nature makes to God.”
“Have you then no sorrow,
Smiling Edith Lane?
Where the barberry's coral
Rattles on the pane,
Where, in endless yellow,
Autumn flowers I see,
Working for a living
Were a woe to me.”
Smiling Edith Lane?
Where the barberry's coral
Rattles on the pane,
Where, in endless yellow,
Autumn flowers I see,
Working for a living
Were a woe to me.”
“Sorrow! I—a woman,
And in years not young?
Of the common chalice,
Drops are on my tongue.
What of that? No whisper
To my heart is lost,
From the barberry-clusters,
Sweetened by the frost;
And in years not young?
Of the common chalice,
Drops are on my tongue.
What of that? No whisper
To my heart is lost,
From the barberry-clusters,
Sweetened by the frost;
“From the rooted sunshine—
Golden-rod in bloom,
Lighting up the hillsides,
For November's gloom.
Shall I blot with weeping
Nature's joy and grace?
Rather be her gladness
Mirrored in my face.
Golden-rod in bloom,
Lighting up the hillsides,
For November's gloom.
Shall I blot with weeping
Nature's joy and grace?
Rather be her gladness
Mirrored in my face.
“‘Working for a living’?
May no worse befall!
Love is always busy;
God works, over all.
Life is worth the earning,
For its daily cheer,
Shared with those who love me,
In yon cottage dear.
May no worse befall!
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God works, over all.
Life is worth the earning,
For its daily cheer,
Shared with those who love me,
In yon cottage dear.
“If you can, fair lady,
Go and be a drone!
Leave me with the children,
Dear as if my own.
Leave me to the humming
Of my little hive,
Glad to earn a living,
Glad to be alive!”
Go and be a drone!
Leave me with the children,
Dear as if my own.
Leave me to the humming
Of my little hive,
Glad to earn a living,
Glad to be alive!”
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |