Not without sorrow did she watch the sod Packed over one who went to meet a God He never clearly understood nor knew. Somehow she vaguely felt his sins were few. She sorrowed, but the lean and bitter years Had robbed her of the privilege of tears. It was his creed to slowly go at night Through the big mill gate, and the cold delight Of handling steel machinery he well Knew, but temptations of a warmer hell Had seemed to leave him strangely little moved, Yet not so strangely -- for his life was grooved. A cold rain fell. She stood beside his grave, His wife, who, like himself had been a slave To the big mill that shadowed both their lives. The mill men never grumble, but their wives At first cry quietly while their husbands sleep. Later, like this sad one, they never weep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA by ROBERT BROWNING FOOLIN' WID DE SEASONS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR HARRIET BEECHER STOWE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 2 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN ON ENGLISH MONSIEUR by BEN JONSON SONNET PREFIXED TO 'THE COMMONWEALTH & GOVERNMENT OF VENICE' by EDMUND SPENSER |