Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Old Lizette on SleepAgnes Lee
B
It’s well to bake and sweep,
But hear the word of old Lizette:
It’s better than all to sleep.
And morning light and dew;
But agèd eyelids love the dark
Where never a light seeps through.
Thinking your hearts will break?
There’s nothing, nothing, nothing, I say,
That’s worth the lying awake!
Love I was dreaming of!
I learned it from the needle-work
That took the place of love.
And what they brought about;
From song, and from the hills of joy
Where sorrow sought me out.
And turn and dream, or fall
To comfort with my pack of bones,
And know of nothing at all!
If prowlers mew or bark,
Nor wonder if it’s three o’clock
Or four o’clock of the dark.
And the last weariness
Has brought the sweetest gift of life,
The last forgetfulness,
Stir the last bed I keep,
Then say, my dears: “It’s old Lizette
She’s turning in her sleep.”