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    The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman
    The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman
    The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman
    Ebook105 pages41 minutes

    The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman

    By Fay Inchfawn

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateJun 1, 2004

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    Reviews for The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman

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    • 3/5
      The poems may not be great but they brought back memories of my mother at the wash tub, starch and suds, Spring cleaning, darning, shirts on the washing line, washing day, pots, pans and currant cakes not forgetting vests, sugar lumps and carpet rucks

    Book preview

    The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman - Fay Inchfawn

    The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman, by

    Elizabeth Rebecca Ward, AKA Fay Inchfawn

    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

    almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

    re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

    with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

    Title: The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman

    Author: Elizabeth Rebecca Ward, AKA Fay Inchfawn

    Release Date: February 28, 2009 [EBook #3477]

    Last Updated: January 26, 2013

    Language: English

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VERSE-BOOK OF A HOMELY WOMAN ***

    Produced by: David Widger

    THE VERSE-BOOK OF

    A HOMELY WOMAN

    By Fay Inchfawn

    [Elizabeth Rebecca Ward]

    CONTENTS

    PART I. INDOORS

    The Long View

    Within my House

    The Housewife

    To Mother

    In Such an Hour

    The Daily Interview

    The Little House

    The House-Mother

    A Woman in Hospital

    In Convalescence

    Homesick

    On Washing Day

    When Baby Strayed

    If Only ——

    Listening

    The Reason

    Two Women

    The Prize Fight

    The Home Lights

    To an Old Teapot

    For Mothering!

    Little Fan

    The Naughty Day

    To a Little White Bird

    Because

    When He Comes

    PART II. OUT OF DOORS

    Early Spring

    The Witness

    In Somerset

    At the Cross Roads

    Summer met Me

    The Carrier

    The Thrush

    In Dorset Dear

    The Flight of the Fairies

    The Street Player

    On All Souls' Eve

    The Log Fire

    God save the King

    Dedicated

    TO

    MY FIRST LOVE, MY MOTHER

    PART I. INDOORS

    The Long View

         Some day of days! Some dawning

             yet to be

         I shall be clothed with immortality!

         And, in that day, I shall not greatly care

         That Jane spilt candle grease upon the

             stair.

         It will not grieve me then, as once it did,

         That careless hands have chipped my

             teapot lid.

         I groan, being burdened. But, in that

             glad day,

         I shall forget vexations of the way.

         That needs were often great, when means

             were small,

         Will not perplex me any more at all

         A few short years at most (it may be less),

         I shall have done with earthly storm and

             stress.

         So, for this day, I lay me at Thy feet.

         O, keep me sweet, my Master! Keep

             me sweet!

    Within my House

         First, there's the entrance, narrow,

             and so small,

         The hat-stand seems to fill the tiny hall;

         That staircase, too, has such an awkward

             bend,

         The carpet rucks, and rises up on end!

         Then, all the rooms are cramped and close

             together;

         And there's a musty smell in rainy weather.

         Yes, and it makes the daily work go hard

         To have the only tap across a yard.

         These creaking doors, these draughts, this

             battered paint,

         Would try, I think, the temper of a saint,

         How often had I railed against these

             things,

         With envies, and with bitter murmurings

         For spacious rooms, and sunny garden

             plots!

         Until one day,

         Washing the breakfast dishes, so I think,

         I paused a moment in my work to pray;

         And then and there

         All life seemed suddenly made new and

             fair;

         For, like the Psalmist's dove among the

             pots

         (Those endless pots, that filled the tiny

             sink!),

         My spirit found her wings.

         Lord (thus I prayed), "it matters not

             at all

         That my poor home is ill-arranged and

             small:

         I, not the house, am straitened; Lord,

             'tis I!

         Enlarge my foolish heart, that by-and-by

         I may look up with such a radiant face

         Thou shalt have glory even in this place.

         And when I trip, or stumble unawares

         In carrying water up these awkward stairs,

         Then keep me sweet, and teach me day

             by day

         To tread with

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