Fragment: A Somersetshire Tragedy

Ill fared it now with his poor wife, I ween
That in her hut she could no more remain;
Oft in the early morning she was seen
Ere Robert to his work had crossed the green,
She roamed from house to house the weary day
And when the housewife's evening hearth was clean
She lingered still and if you chanced to say,
" Robert his supper needs," her colour passed away.
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.