Classic Poem

They heard that she was dying, and they came,
The reticent New England village folk,
And wrestled with their tongues and, stammering, spoke
Their very hearts, torn betwixt love and shame.
The wheelwright brought a crock of flowering flame
And, with moist eyes, said: “Madam, ef a stroke
O' the axe might save ye—(and this ain't no joke)—
I'd cut my right hand off to do that same!”
When her white soul had sped the fisherman rowed
A fare of fish—his parting gift—ashore,
And choked upon the words: “I never knowed
No one I liked so well as her afore.”
And the charwoman sobbed: “'Twas me she showed
How not to get downhearted any more.”