Housewife’s Lament

Dishes to wash, floors to sweep,
When I would so much rather keep
A rendezvous with an ivy vine
Out in the golden spring sunshine.

Mocking bird on lofty bough
Calls to me–just hear him now!
But here am I, still dusting chairs
And sweeping cobwebs from the stairs.

Oh, to be as free and gay–
‘Specially on an April day–
As a rippling mountain rill
Or the wildflowers on the hill!

May 7, 1939



The days are clear; the sky is blue,
And spring is in the April air,
Yet such sadness as I never knew
Fills all my thoughts with deep despair.

As daylight long and longer grows,
So strong and stronger grows my pain,
And sluggishly life’s current flows
Till I’ll be coming home again.

April 28, 1940


I planted dry, brown, ugly bulbs
In earth dark, moist, and bare;
The chilling wind of Autumn sang
Its death-song of despair.

“Poor bulbs,” I thought and said a prayer,
“They have no chance, I fear,”
And Winter came and lingered long;
Then skies began to clear.

And with the warm spring sun there came
Long spears of brightest green
And then such proud and gorgeous blooms
They might have graced a queen.

Who, now, can watch this miracle
Of sun and rain and sod,
And still in utter truth declare,
“I don’t believe in God”?

August 2, 1942

Breath of Spring

Of what consists the breath of spring?
Of red of breast and gray of wing
And the first notes that the robins sing;
Of faint green tracery of leaves,
Of pale moonlight while the hoot owl grieves,
And the spell that rippling water weaves;
Of scent of roses in the air
And daffodils so debonair,
Of sun-drenched beauty everywhere;
Cold dew where morning glories cling,
The loveliness a shower can bring–
Of such consists the breath of spring.

March 10, 1940