The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman

Listening

     His step? Ah, no; 'tis but the rain
     That hurtles on the window pane.
     Let's draw the curtains close and sit
     Beside the fire awhile and knit.
     Two purl—two plain. A well-shaped
          sock,
     And warm. (I thought I heard a knock,
     But 'twas the slam of Jones's door.)
     Yes, good Scotch yarn is far before
     The fleecy wools—a different thing,
     And best for wear. (Was that his ring?)
     No. 'Tis the muffin man I see;
     We'll have threepennyworth for tea.
     Two plain—two purl; that heel is neat.
     (I hear his step far down the street.)
     Two purl—two plain. The sock can
          wait;
     I'll make the tea. (He's at the gate!)

The Dear Folks in
     Devon

     Back in the dear old country 'tis Christ-
          mas, and to-night
     I'm thinking of the mistletoe and holly
          berries bright.
     The smoke above our chimbley pots I'd
          dearly love to see,
     And those dear folks down in Devon,
          how they'll talk and think of me.

     Owd Ben'll bring the letters, Christmas
          morn, and if there's one
     As comes across from Canada straight
          from their absent son,
     My Mother's hands'll tremble, and my
          Dad'll likely say:
     "Don't seem like Christmas time no more,
          with our dear lad away."

     I can see 'em carve the Christmas beef,
          and Brother Jimmy's wife
     Will say her never tasted such, no, not in
          all her life.
     And Sister Martha's Christmas pies melt
          in your mouth, 'tis true,
     But 'twas Mother made the puddin', as
          mothers always do!

     Ah me! If I could just have wings, and
          in the dimsey light
     Go stealing up the cobbled path this
          lonesome Christmas night,
     Lift up the latch with gentle hand—My!
          What a shout there'd be!
     From those dear folks down in Devon!
          What a welcomin' for me!