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Edgar Lee Masters 1868 (Garnett) – 1950 (Elkins Park)
I was the daughter of Lambert Hutchins,
Born in a cottage near the grist-mill,
Reared in the mansion there on the hill,
With its spires, bay-windows, and roof of slate.
How proud my mother was of the mansion!
How proud of father's rise in the world!
And how my father loved and watched us,
And guarded our happiness.
But I believe the house was a curse,
For father's fortune was little beside it;
And when my husband found he had married
A girl who was really poor,
He taunted me with the spires,
And called the house a fraud on the world,
A treacherous lure to young men, raising hopes
Of a dowry not to be had;
And a man while selling his vote
Should get enough from the people's betrayal
To wall the whole of his family in.
He vexed my life till I went back home
And lived like an old maid till I died,
Keeping house for father.
Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 49 sec read
- 84 Views
|Closest metre||Iambic pentameter|
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Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
"Lilian Stewart" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 7 Jun 2023. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/8647/lilian-stewart>.
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