English Poetry II: From Collins to Fitzgerald.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Anne Hunter
347. My Mother Bids Me Bind My Hair
With bands of rosy hue,
Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare,
And lace my bodice blue.
While others dance and play?’
Alas! I scarce can go or creep
While Lubin is away.
When those we love were near;
I sit upon this mossy stone
And sigh when none can hear.
And sing my simple lay,
The village seems asleep or dead,
Now Lubin is away.