I cannot bring you comfort -- ask me not For smooth-pulled sheets and socks all neatly mended; I cannot bring you biscuits brown and hot, If these you seek, why, then, our love is ended, If love you call it -- men do call it love -- And women, too, who know no other kind, Who patiently put household tasks above The trifling hungers of the flesh and mind. But I can laugh with you at commonplaces, And make a feast of moments men call cheap, And I can go like snow and leave no traces, When night means nothing more to us than sleep. Oh! Is it not some comfort to believe My heart will not grow dingy on your sleeve? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HEREDITY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH COBWEBS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE SAD MOTHER by KATHARINE TYNAN POEM, READ THE SOLDIERS' WELCOME, FRANKLIN, NEW YORK, AUG. 5, 1865 by B. H. BARNES TO SIR JOHN SPENSER KNIGHTE, ALDERMAN OF LONDON by RICHARD BARNFIELD IN REFERENCE TO HER CHILDREN, 23 JUNE, 1659 by ANNE BRADSTREET ON THE DEATH OF COMMODORE OLIVER H. PERRY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |