Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

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;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny

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?

That shattered roof, - and this naked floor,

A table, a broken chair,

And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank

For sometimes falling there!

"Work, work, work!

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.

In the dull December light,

And work, work, work,

When the weather is warm and bright;

While underneath the eaves

The brooding swallows cling,

As if to show me their sunny backs,
And twit me with the Spring.

"Oh! but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet,

With the sky above my head

And the grass beneath my feet;

For only one short hour

To feel as I used to feel

Before I knew the woes of want,

And the walk that costs a meal!

"Oh! for but one short hour,

A respite, however brief!

No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,