“
Now reading
Acceptance
This house is ugly-but it is the house I live in.
Tomorrow I will plant a rose-bush by the door-step
And edge the gravel path with homely scented spice-pinks,
And I will weed the path and rake it smoothly over.
Before my wide-flung door, jesting, I'll spread my prayer-
Tug;
Before my clean-swept hearth-stone I will lay my hearth-
rug.
In summer I will bank the hearth with pungent pine
boughs,
And fill my copper lustre-jug with cool blue larkspurs.
In winter I will keep a fire of beech-logs burning,
And put my lustre jug where the fire-light will strike it.
And yet, when night blots out this house I live in, often
I'll sit long in the purple dark-nor light the candles.
Ethel Arnold Tilden
THE NEAT ONE
When others throw newspapers down,
She lays them in smooth piles;
When index cards lie on the desk,
She places them in files.