Poems (Kimball)/Nothing to do
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NOTHING TO DO.
A STRIP of snowiest linen
Half broidered and stamped in blue,
And the gleam of a threadless needle
Piercing the pattern through:
The needle is ready, yet the sweet little lady
Sits sighing for something to do.
Half broidered and stamped in blue,
And the gleam of a threadless needle
Piercing the pattern through:
The needle is ready, yet the sweet little lady
Sits sighing for something to do.
Heaped on the table beside her
Blossoms of every hue;
Delicate, odorous roses—
The rarest that ever grew:
The vase stands ready while the sweet little lady
Sits wishing for something to do.
Blossoms of every hue;
Delicate, odorous roses—
The rarest that ever grew:
The vase stands ready while the sweet little lady
Sits wishing for something to do.
Half hid under flowers a volume
In daintiest gold and blue,
Just parted, as if it would open
At "The Miller's Daughter" for you:
The book lies ready, yet the sweet little lady
Sits sighing for something to do.
In daintiest gold and blue,
Just parted, as if it would open
At "The Miller's Daughter" for you:
The book lies ready, yet the sweet little lady
Sits sighing for something to do.
A silent harp in the corner,
And melodies old and new
Scattered in pretty disorder—
Songs of the false and the true:
The harp stands ready—still the sweet little lady
Sits longing for something to do.
And melodies old and new
Scattered in pretty disorder—
Songs of the false and the true:
The harp stands ready—still the sweet little lady
Sits longing for something to do.
A sudden wind-sweep and flutter—
The door wide open blew;
A step in the hall, and swiftly,
Like a bird, to the threshold she flew:
Blushing, already the sweet little lady
Forgets she has nothing to do!
The door wide open blew;
A step in the hall, and swiftly,
Like a bird, to the threshold she flew:
Blushing, already the sweet little lady
Forgets she has nothing to do!