TO MY LAUNDRESS
by: Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914)
wert thou not so fair
- I'd curse thee for thy multitude of sins--
- For sending home my clothes all full of pins,
- A shirt occasionally that's a snare
- And a delusion, got, the Lord knows where,
- The Lord knows why, a sock whose outs and ins
- None knows, nor where it ends nor where begins,
- And fewer cuffs than ought to be my share.
- But when I mark thy lilies how they grow,
- And the red roses of thy ripening charms,
- I bless the lovelight in thy dark eyes dreaming.
- I'll never pay thee, but I'd gladly go
- Into the magic circle of thine arms,
- Supple and fragrant from repeated steaming.
POEMS BY AMBROSE BIERCE
"To My Laundress" is reprinted
from The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce Vol. IV: Shapes
of Clay. Ambrose Bierce. New York: Neale Publishing Company,