And Prue says, "Mine's a patient man, As never snaps me up," And Agatha, "Arth' is a hug-the-hearth, Could live content in a cup;" Sue's man's mind is like good jell-- All one colour, and clear-- And Mig's no call to think at all What's to come next year, While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad, That's troubled with that and this;-- But they all would give the life they live For a look from the man I kiss! Cold he slants his eyes about, And few enough's his choice,-- Though he'd slip me clean for a nun, or a queen, Or a beggar with knots in her voice,-- And Agatha will turn awake While her good man sleeps sound, And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue Will hear the clock strike round, For Prue she has a patient man, As asks not when or why, And Mig and Sue have naught to do But peep who's passing by, Joan is paired with a putterer That bastes and tastes and salts, And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth,-- But my true love is false! The Prisoner All right, Go ahead! What's in a name? I guess I'll be locked into As much as I'm locked out of! The Unexplorer There was a road ran past our house Too lovely to explore. I asked my mother once--she said That if you followed where it led It brought you to the milk-man's door. (That's why I have not traveled more.) Grown-up Was it for this I uttered prayers, And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, That now, domestic as a plate, I should retire at half-past eight? The Penitent I had a little Sorrow, Born of a little Sin, I found a room all damp with gloom And shut us all within; And, "Little Sorrow, weep," said I, "And, Little Sin, pray God to die, And I upon the floor will lie And think how bad I've been!" Alas for pious planning-- It mattered not a whit! As far as gloom went in that room, The lamp might have been lit! My little Sorrow would not weep, My little Sin would go to sleep-- To save my soul I could not keep My graceless mind on it! So up I got in anger, And took a book I had, And put a ribbon on my hair To please a passing lad, And, "One thing there's no getting by-- I've been a wicked girl," said I; "But if I can't be sorry, why, I might as well be glad!" Daphne Why do you follow me?-- Any moment I can be Nothing but a laurel-tree. Any moment of the chase I can leave you in my place A pink bough for your embrace. Yet if over hill and hollow Still it is your will to follow, I am off;--to heel, Apollo! Portrait by a Neighbor Before she has her floor swept Or her dishes done, Any day you'll find her A-sunning in the sun! It's long after midnight Her key's in the lock, And you never see her chimney smoke Till past ten o'clock!