SSHE talks of “gentry” still, and “birth,”And holds the good old-fashioned creedOf widely differing ranks and station,And gentle blood, whose obligationIs courteous word and friendly deed.She knows her own ancestral line,And numbers all its links of honor;But in her theory of right livingGood birth involves good will, good giving,—A daily duty laid upon her.Her hands are versed in household arts:She kneads and stirs, compounds and spices;Her bread is famous in the region;Her cakes and puddings form a legionOf sure successes, swift surprises.A lady in her kitchen apron;Always a lady, though she labors;She has a “faculty” prompt and certain,Which makes each flower-bed, gown, and curtainA standing wonder to her neighbors.Her days seem measured by some planetMore liberal than our common sun is;For she finds time when others miss itThe poor to cheer, the sick to visit,And carry brightness in where none is.Behold her as, her day’s work over,Her house from attic to door-scraperIn order, all her tasks completed,She sits down, calm, composed, unheated,To read her Emerson or her paper.She hears the new æsthetic Gospel,And unconvinced although surprised is;Herfamily knows what is proper.She smiles, and does not care a copper,Although her carpet stigmatized is.She does not quite accept tradition;She has her private theory ready;Her shrewd, quaint insight baffles leading;And straight through dogma’s special pleadingShe holds her own, composed and steady.Kindness her law; her king is duty.You cannot bend her though you break her;As tough as yew and as elasticHer fibre; unconvinced, unplastic,—She clasps conviction like a Quaker.Long live her type, to be our anchorWhen times go wrong and true men rally,Till aged Chocorua fails and bleachesBeside the shining Saco reaches,Monadnock by the Jaffrey valley.
SSHE talks of “gentry” still, and “birth,”And holds the good old-fashioned creedOf widely differing ranks and station,And gentle blood, whose obligationIs courteous word and friendly deed.She knows her own ancestral line,And numbers all its links of honor;But in her theory of right livingGood birth involves good will, good giving,—A daily duty laid upon her.Her hands are versed in household arts:She kneads and stirs, compounds and spices;Her bread is famous in the region;Her cakes and puddings form a legionOf sure successes, swift surprises.A lady in her kitchen apron;Always a lady, though she labors;She has a “faculty” prompt and certain,Which makes each flower-bed, gown, and curtainA standing wonder to her neighbors.Her days seem measured by some planetMore liberal than our common sun is;For she finds time when others miss itThe poor to cheer, the sick to visit,And carry brightness in where none is.Behold her as, her day’s work over,Her house from attic to door-scraperIn order, all her tasks completed,She sits down, calm, composed, unheated,To read her Emerson or her paper.She hears the new æsthetic Gospel,And unconvinced although surprised is;Herfamily knows what is proper.She smiles, and does not care a copper,Although her carpet stigmatized is.She does not quite accept tradition;She has her private theory ready;Her shrewd, quaint insight baffles leading;And straight through dogma’s special pleadingShe holds her own, composed and steady.Kindness her law; her king is duty.You cannot bend her though you break her;As tough as yew and as elasticHer fibre; unconvinced, unplastic,—She clasps conviction like a Quaker.Long live her type, to be our anchorWhen times go wrong and true men rally,Till aged Chocorua fails and bleachesBeside the shining Saco reaches,Monadnock by the Jaffrey valley.
SSHE talks of “gentry” still, and “birth,”And holds the good old-fashioned creedOf widely differing ranks and station,And gentle blood, whose obligationIs courteous word and friendly deed.
S
SHE talks of “gentry” still, and “birth,”
And holds the good old-fashioned creed
Of widely differing ranks and station,
And gentle blood, whose obligation
Is courteous word and friendly deed.
She knows her own ancestral line,And numbers all its links of honor;But in her theory of right livingGood birth involves good will, good giving,—A daily duty laid upon her.
She knows her own ancestral line,
And numbers all its links of honor;
But in her theory of right living
Good birth involves good will, good giving,—
A daily duty laid upon her.
Her hands are versed in household arts:She kneads and stirs, compounds and spices;Her bread is famous in the region;Her cakes and puddings form a legionOf sure successes, swift surprises.
Her hands are versed in household arts:
She kneads and stirs, compounds and spices;
Her bread is famous in the region;
Her cakes and puddings form a legion
Of sure successes, swift surprises.
A lady in her kitchen apron;Always a lady, though she labors;She has a “faculty” prompt and certain,Which makes each flower-bed, gown, and curtainA standing wonder to her neighbors.
A lady in her kitchen apron;
Always a lady, though she labors;
She has a “faculty” prompt and certain,
Which makes each flower-bed, gown, and curtain
A standing wonder to her neighbors.
Her days seem measured by some planetMore liberal than our common sun is;For she finds time when others miss itThe poor to cheer, the sick to visit,And carry brightness in where none is.
Her days seem measured by some planet
More liberal than our common sun is;
For she finds time when others miss it
The poor to cheer, the sick to visit,
And carry brightness in where none is.
Behold her as, her day’s work over,Her house from attic to door-scraperIn order, all her tasks completed,She sits down, calm, composed, unheated,To read her Emerson or her paper.
Behold her as, her day’s work over,
Her house from attic to door-scraper
In order, all her tasks completed,
She sits down, calm, composed, unheated,
To read her Emerson or her paper.
She hears the new æsthetic Gospel,And unconvinced although surprised is;Herfamily knows what is proper.She smiles, and does not care a copper,Although her carpet stigmatized is.
She hears the new æsthetic Gospel,
And unconvinced although surprised is;
Herfamily knows what is proper.
She smiles, and does not care a copper,
Although her carpet stigmatized is.
She does not quite accept tradition;She has her private theory ready;Her shrewd, quaint insight baffles leading;And straight through dogma’s special pleadingShe holds her own, composed and steady.
She does not quite accept tradition;
She has her private theory ready;
Her shrewd, quaint insight baffles leading;
And straight through dogma’s special pleading
She holds her own, composed and steady.
Kindness her law; her king is duty.You cannot bend her though you break her;As tough as yew and as elasticHer fibre; unconvinced, unplastic,—She clasps conviction like a Quaker.
Kindness her law; her king is duty.
You cannot bend her though you break her;
As tough as yew and as elastic
Her fibre; unconvinced, unplastic,—
She clasps conviction like a Quaker.
Long live her type, to be our anchorWhen times go wrong and true men rally,Till aged Chocorua fails and bleachesBeside the shining Saco reaches,Monadnock by the Jaffrey valley.
Long live her type, to be our anchor
When times go wrong and true men rally,
Till aged Chocorua fails and bleaches
Beside the shining Saco reaches,
Monadnock by the Jaffrey valley.