I was born a cabin maiden in the deep, uncultured wild– chasing after butterflies, hunting after
flowers. Bless thee, old cloak! For many a year we have jogged through the world together. A
song, a song, for the old door stone. I wish I had a dozen pairs of hands this very minute! Oh no,
I’m not old, though age-frost is cresting silvery rime my once bonny brown hair. There is luxury
in the Brussels carpet, and splendor in pictures that hang on the wall. Go to thy labor with willing
heart, earnest in spirit to do thy part. I’m sitting by my fire alone; the embers burn low. I live two
lives–one all sadness, the other gladness. Farewell to my home! I am lonely, I am weary, would
you know the reason why? ‘Tis said the world is full of woe, and so it is. At my leisure, I am
sitting, gazing at the web of life. There is a glorious poem in each earnest, woman-heart that
struggles for utterance–to become part of the never-ending drama, acting on Life’s fitful stage.
Gage, Frances Dana Barker. Poems. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott & Co., 1866. https://archive.org/details/poemsfranced00gagerich/page/n88/mode/1up