Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

The Old Woman

Marjorie Allen Seiffert

Doctor:

THERE is an old woman

Who ought to die—

Deacon:And nobody knows

But what she’s dead—

Doctor:The air will be cleaner

When she’s gone—

Deacon:But we dare not bury her

Till she’s dead—

Landlady:Come, young doctor

From the first floor front,

Come, dusty deacon

From the fourth floor back—

You take her heels

And I’ll take her head—

Doctor and
Deacon:We’ll carry her

And bury her—

If she’s dead!

House:They roll her up

In her old red quilt,

They carry her down

At a horizontal tilt.

She doesn’t say, “Yes!”

And she doesn’t say, “No!”

She doesn’t say, “Gentlemen,

Where do we go?”

Doctor:Out in the lot

Where the ash-cans die,

There, old woman,

There shall you lie!

Deacon:Let’s hurry away,

And never look behind

To see if her eyes

Are dead and blind,

To see if the quilt

Lies over her face.

Perhaps she’ll groan,

Or move in her place!

House:The room is empty

Where the old woman lay,

And I no longer

Smell like a tomb—

Landlady:Doctor, deacon,

Can you say

Who’ll pay the rent

For the old woman’s room?

House:

The room is empty

Down the hall;

There are mice in the closet,

Ghosts in the wall.

A pretty little lady

Comes to see—

Woman:Oh, what a dark room!

Not for me!

Landlady:The room is large

And the rent is low;

There’s a deacon above,

And a doctor below—

Deacon:When the little mice squeak

I will pray—

Doctor:I’ll psycho-analyze

The ghosts away—

Landlady:The bed is large

And the mattress deep;

Wrapped in a featherbed

You shall sleep—

Woman:But here’s the door

Without a key—

An unlocked room

Won’t do for me!

Doctor:Here’s a bolt—

Deacon:And here’s a bar—

Landlady:You’ll sleep safely

Where you are!

Woman:Good-night, gentlemen,

It’s growing late.

Good-night, landlady,

Pray don’t wait!

I’m going to bed—

I’ll bolt the door

And sleep more soundly

Than ever before!

Deacon:Good-night, madam,

I’ll steal away—

Doctor:Glad a pretty lady

Has come to stay!

House:She lights a candle—

What do I see?

That cloak looks like

A quilt to me!

She climbs into bed

Where long she’s lain;

She’s come back home—

She won’t leave again.

She’s found once more

Her rightful place—

Same old lady

With a pretty new face.

Let the deacon pray

And the doctor talk—

The mice will squeak

And the ghosts will walk.

There’s a crafty smile

On the landlady’s face—

The old woman’s gone

And she’s filled her place!

Landlady:It’s nothing to me

If the old woman’s dead—

I’ve somebody sleeping

In every bed!