Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The Drunkard's Wife

A big part of the reading in a woman's life was poetry. Poems appear every few pages throughout all the ladies' magazines of the the 1800's and early 1900's. In among the short stories, serial stories, and needlework and fashion pages poems are inserted everywhere. The following is one of the many poems in the December, 1874, issue of Wood's Household Magazine ( there was no author listed). It's kind of a stand by your man piece.






The Drunkard's Wife

The mystic shadows of the night

Have shrouded all in gloom,

But there is one her watch doth keep

Within a cheerless room.

The dying embers on the hearth

Burn with a feeble power,

And the old clock in solemn tone

Speaks out the midnight hour.

All, all are wrapped in slumbers soft,

Save, she, the wretched wife;

Oh, who dare say a woman's love

Is not the pearl of life?

The candle now is flickering,

The embers grow more dim,

Yet with throbbing brow and heart

She watches still for him.

At last she hears a footstep nigh,

Her soul is filled with bliss,

She hastens with her outstretched arms

To greet him with a kiss.

She welcomes him with eyes of love,

With smiles that are divine;

Oh, God! he reels--he cannot stand,

He is o'ercome with wine.

Night after night she watches thus;

Her frame grows thin and weak;

Yet still to him, the cause of all,

Complaints she will not speak;

And when at last the lamp of life

No more its light doth shed,

And he who swore to cherish her

Is absent from the dead,

She chide him not, but did forgive

With her expiring breath.

Oh, woman, when she truly loves,

Is faithful unto death.

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