The Housewife

Here is the House to hold me — cradle of all the race;

Here is my lord and my love, here are my children dear —

Here is the House enclosing, the dear-loved dwelling place;

Why should I ever weary for aught that I find not here?

Here for the hours of the day and the hours of the night;

Bound with the bands of Duty, rivetted tight;

Duty older than Adam — Duty that saw

Acceptance utter and hopeless in the eyes of the serving squaw.

Food and the serving of food — that is my daylong care;

What and when we shall eat, what and how we shall wear;

Soiling and cleaning of things — that is my task in the main —

Soil them and clean them and soil them — soil them and clean them again.

To work at my trade by the dozen and never a trade to know;

To plan like a Chinese puzzle — fitting and changing so;

To think of a thousand details, each in a thousand ways;

For my own immediate people and a possible love and praise.

My mind is trodden in circles, tiresome, narrow and hard,

Useful, commonplace, private — simply a small back-yard;

And I the Mother of Nations! — Blind their struggle and vain! —

I cover the earth with my children — each with a housewife's brain.