The Washer-woman





A great swart cheek and the gleam of tears,

The flutter of hopes and the shadow of fears,

And all day long the rub and scrub

With only a breath betwixt tub and tub.

Fool! Thou hast toiled for fifty years

And what hast thou now but thy dusty tears?

In silence she rubbed... But her face I had seen,

Where the light of her soul fell shining and clean.





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