Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing: Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Make no deep scrutiny Rash and undutiful : Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; While wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? "But why do I talk of death, Because of the fasts I keep; Oh, God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread, — and rags. That shattered roof, and this naked floor, — A table, a broken chair, And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank From weary chime to chime! Work,—work, — work, As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band, Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, As well as the weary hand. When the weather is warm and bright; While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, |