The Cornflower, and Other Poems

A labor of love her homely task —
To share it none need hope nor ask,

For Nan was washing each trace of dirt
From fluted bodice and ruffled skirt.

Now, few that will, and fewer that can,
Bend over a tub like pretty Nan.

The frail soap bubbles sailed high in air
As she drew each piece from frothy lair,

And rubbed with cruel yet tender hand
As only a woman could, understand.

Then wrung with twist of the wrist so strong,
Examined with care, shook well and long,

Flung in clear water to lie in state —
Each dainty piece met the same hard fate.

"'Tis done!" with a look of conscious pride
At the rinsing bucket deep and wide.

Wiping the suds from each rounded arm,
She turned to John with a smile so warm:

"I've kept you waiting – excuse me, please,
The soapsuds ruin such goods as these."

"You're over fond of finery, Nan,
Dresses and furbelows," he began.

"Maybe I am, of a truth," she said.
Each sunflower nodded its yellow head.

"Ned Brown's growing rich" – John's words came slow —
"That he loves you well you doubtless know.

"My house and acres, I held them fast,
Was stubborn over them to the last,

"For when my father was carried forth,
And men were asking 'What was he worth?'

"I saw them look and nod and smile
As they whispered together all the while,

"'A fine old homestead, but mortgaged so,
A foolish thing for a man to do!'

"I said, 'My father's dead and gone,
But he's left behind a strong-armed son.'

"My heart was hot with a purpose set
To clear that mortgage, to pay that debt.

"I've worked, heaven knows, like any slave,
I've learned the lesson of scrimp and save,

"Kept a good horse, but dressed like a clown —
And I've not a dollar to call my own.

"I'm beaten – well beaten; yesterday
Everything went to Ned Brown from me.

"My woods, my meadows, my tasseled corn,
The orchard planted when I was born,

"The old rose garden my mother loved,
My chestnut mare – can't help feeling moved,

"For I'm a beggar, Nan, you see —
Don't think me begging for sympathy.

"The world is wide, I don't care – much.
Thank God, health's a thing the law can't touch.

"The happiest man I ever knew
Was born a beggar, and died one, too."

Each sunflower, nodding its yellow head,
Listened to every word that was said,

As Nan in her slow and easy way,
In the farmhouse kitchen that summer day,

Set a great and weighty problem forth,
One that no scholar on this green earth

Has been able to solve since things began
With Adam – a lone and lonesome man.

Yet very coolly she set it forth:
"Tell me the truth, how much am I worth?"

The sunbeams kissing her golden hair,
Her cheeks, her round arms dimpled and bare,

Seemed stamping value of mighty wealth