The Maid in the Garden 
" The maid was in the garden a' hanging out the clothes; 
There came a little blackbird and nipped of her nose." 
That blackbird was once my favorite among fowls; 
Its act deeply satisfied my sense of poetic justice, 
Even as the maid in the garden outraged 
My every esthetic sensibility. When displaying one's artistic effects 
To a caller, 
What a blow to dignity 
To be forced to duck under a line of xmderwear. 
Or when hastening to some urgent work, 
Brow wet with honest drops, 
Arms laden, and moist, earthy hands. 
You walk into a sea of clammy sheets 
Which wiU not part at your word 
As Moses divided the Red Sea, — 
It does not conduce to joyful song 
And sounding the loud timbrel. 
Quite the contrary. 
But there is worse to come. 
To find one's flowering hedge decked with the overflow 
Of the too liberal clothes-line — 
Socks, napkins and pajamas; 
And when one cannot afford a garden hose. 
Small comfort 'tis to see one's best silk hose 
Draped on a rose bush. 
And so I timed my lyre 
To loud discordant notes, and cursed the race 
Of laundresses along with barnyard fowls. 
Cut-worms, rose-bugs, and other nuisances. 
But now I pass the pensive clothes-line, — Deserted 
Save where a few shy garments huddle lonesomely, 
Or a few dish-towels flap. 
And I weep. 
Where are the sheets, the napkins, and pajamas? 
And other articles too numerous to mention? 
I know but don't choose to tell, 
So echo answers, where? 
Then I re-tune my lyre to soft persuasion. 
I sing "Come into the garden, Maude! 
Come, Mary, Sally, Jane Geraldine or Georgianna! 
Come, and when you have washed the clothes, 
Hang them where you will. 
Hang Hedges! Hang Beauty! 
Hang Esthetic Sensibilities! Hang Blackbirds! 
Just so you hang out the clothes 
You and not I." 
Member of the Garden Club of Warrenton, Va. 
S8 
