Classic Poem

The cotton blouse you wear, your mother said,
After a day of toil, " I guess I'll buy it " ;
For ribbons on your head and blouse she paid
Two-bits a yard — as if you would deny it!

And nights, after a day of kitchen toil,
She stitched your re-made skirt of serge — once blue —
Weary of eye, beneath a lamp of oil:
McDonogh would be proud of her and you.

Next, came white " creepers " and white stockings, too —
They almost asked her blood when they were sold;
Like some dark princess, to the school go you,
With blue larkspur and yellow marigold;
But few would know — or even guess this fact:
How dear comes beauty when a skin is black.