Poems (Larcom)/The Schoolmistress

by Lucy Larcom

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS.

"HOW are you so cheerful,
 Gentle Edith Lane!
Be it bright or cloudy,
 Fall of dew or rain,
In that lonely schoolhouse,
 Patiently you stay,
Teaching simple children,
 All the livelong day."

"Teaching simple children?
 I am simple, too:
So we learn together
 Lessons plain as true,
From this thumb-worn Bible,
 Full of love's best lore;
Or, to read another,
 Just unlatch the door.

"Can I but be cheerful
 While I bid them look,
Through the sunny pages
 Of each opening book?—
Showing tracks of angels,
 On the footworn sod;
Listening to the music
 Nature makes to God."

"Have you then no sorrow,
 Smiling Edith Lane?
Where the barberry's coral
 Rattles on the pane,
Where, in endless yellow,
 Autumn flowers I see,
Working for a living
 Were a woe to me."

"Sorrow! I—a woman,
 And in years not young?
Of the common chalice,
 Drops are on my tongue.
What of that? No whisper
 To my heart is lost,
From the barberry-clusters,
 Sweetened by the frost;

"From the rooted sunshine,—
 Golden-rod in bloom,
Lighting up the hillsides,
 For November's gloom.
Shall I blot with weeping
 Nature's joy and grace?
Rather be her gladness
 Mirrored in my face.

"'Working for a living'?
 May no worse befall!
Love is always busy;
 God works, over all.
Life is worth the earning,
 For its daily cheer,
Shared with those who love me,
 In yon cottage dear.

"If you can, fair lady,
 Go and be a drone!
Leave me with the children,
 Dear as if my own.
Leave me to the humming
 Of my little hive,
Glad to earn a living,
 Glad to be alive!"