Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/An Idler

For other versions of this work, see An Idler.

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Poems, Volume II by Florence Earle Coates An Idler

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AN IDLER

SHE cannot wind the distaff,  She can nor bake nor brew; Her hands are indeed too dainty  Such labors to pursue. She cares not to follow the harvest,  She neither can sew nor glean, But waits for the weary reapers  With cheerful calm serene. Commanding all to serve her,  From service she is free; But, ah, my babe so helpless  Is health and wealth to me!