It is speckled with grime as if Small print overspread it, The news of a day I've forgotten-- If I ever read it. IN THE HOME STRETCH She stood against the kitchen sink, and looked Over the sink out through a dusty window At weeds the water from the sink made tall. She wore her cape; her hat was in her hand. Behind her was confusion in the room, Of chairs turned upside down to sit like people In other chairs, and something, come to look, For every room a house has--parlor, bed-room, And dining-room--thrown pell-mell in the kitchen. And now and then a smudged, infernal face Looked in a door behind her and addressed Her back. She always answered without turning. "Where will I put this walnut bureau, lady?" "Put it on top of something that's on top Of something else," she laughed. "Oh, put it where You can to-night, and go. It's almost dark; You must be getting started back to town." Another blackened face thrust in and looked And smiled, and when she did not turn, spoke gently, "What are you seeing out the window, _lady_?" "Never was I beladied so before. Would evidence of having been called lady More than so many times make me a lady In common law, I wonder." "But I ask, What are you seeing out the window, lady?" "What I'll be seeing more of in the years To come as here I stand and go the round Of many plates with towels many times." "And what is that? You only put me off." "Rank weeds that love the water from the dish-pan More than some women like the dish-pan, Joe; A little stretch of mowing-field for you; Not much of that until I come to woods That end all. And it's scarce enough to call A view." "And yet you think you like it, dear?" "That's what you're so concerned to know! You hope I like it. Bang goes something big away Off there upstairs. The very tread of men As great as those is shattering to the frame Of such a little house. Once left alone, You and I, dear, will go with softer steps Up and down stairs and through the rooms, and none But sudden winds that snatch them from our hands Will ever slam the doors." "I think you see More than you like to own to out that window." "No; for besides the things I tell you of, I only see the years. They come and go In alternation with the weeds, the field, The wood."