THE PADDOCK
That’s right: but—Janet? Cook? Housekeeper?
Nonsense!
I could be work’d to death that way, and die
Only half-used—No, I’ve a whole use, somewhere,
If I could only find it. Not just play—
I don’t want only pleasure—I must own,
I’d like a little more, but “Life’s no joke!”
No, I should just hope not! I value jokes,
But I know, quite as well as Andrew does,
You can’t live on puff-pastry. Life’s—Oh, well,
Something big, anyway!
“It’s hard.” All right!
Let it be hard! I want it hard! I want
Something to grab, and grip and grapple with,
Something—Oh, tough! Here’s it’s like fighting feathers.
“It’s dangerous?” Yes, I daresay; what of that?
Everything is, that’s anything; take riding.
“More than I know?” That’s it. I want to know!
Dangers don’t matter, if you’re brave enough.
And other girls get on: Lil Tracy, now,
And Cousin Con:—I beat them both at school.
“Content?” I will be, Andrew, when I’ve been
Contented, when I’ve had enough! but, here,
Oh, dear! there’s not enough. “Home?” for my body;
Prison, for my spirit—Ah, forgive me, Liz!
—Oh, I know all he says. I know the place
Is lovely; heavenly, on a day like this,
Yes, yes! but then, the thing you’re always seeing,
Well,....you don’t see it always! “Safe, and restful?”
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