SHE has written her little letter; It was hard enough to do, With mistress forever ringing the bell Always for something new. When the spelling was very uncertain, And the writing's blotted and slow. But she's written her little letter Over the sea to go. It will carry her last month's wages— A couple of pounds at least. It means for the dear home people No end of a happy feast. A little shawl for her mother, And shoes for the baby's feet, For the pale-faced ailing sister Some delicate things to eat. She follows her little letter Over the plunging sea. She sits again by the smoking peat, And leans on her father's knee. There are gossiping neighbors calling, No end of kith and kin, And they laugh and chat and linger As their endless tales they spin. And it isn't work forever, With bells that make one start; And it isn't only the wages— It's something tugs at the heart And sets her laughing and crying As she follows across the sea What she wrote at her kitchen-table When she had a half-hour free. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOLIATH AND DAVID by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES DRIVING HOME THE COWS by KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD AFAR IN THE DESERT by THOMAS PRINGLE THE BROKEN WATER WHEEL by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: SEVENTH ECLOGUE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. TO BECOME A CREATOR by EDWARD CARPENTER |