Menella Bute Smedley
Menella Bute Smedley Poems
Comments about Menella Bute Smedley
The Fisherman's Wife
The wind bloweth wildly; she stands on the shore;
She shudders to hear it, and will evermore.
The rush of the waves, as they rose and they fell,
Evermore to her fancy will sound like a knell!
“When, mother, dear mother, will father return?
His supper is ready,—the sticks brightly burn;
His chair is beside them, with dry shoes and coat,
I'm longing to kiss him,—Oh, where is the boat?
“Why does he not come with his fish on his arm?
He must want his supper,—he cannot be warm;
I'll stroke his cold cheek, with his wet hair I'll play,
I want so to kiss him,—Oh, ...
A Bird's-Eye View
Quoth the boy, “I'll climb that tree,
And bring down a nest I know.”
Quoth the girl, “I will not see
Little birds defrauded so.
Cowardly their nests to take,
And their little hearts to break,
And their little eggs to steal.
Leave them happy for my sake,—
Surely little birds can feel!”