The harrying voice of stern policedom struck,
And chased her from her vantage, till a tear
Fell at her "wretched luck."
Again I saw a wan domestic drudge
Scuttering across a smug suburban lawn;
Tired with the nightly watch, the morning trudge,
The toil at early dawn.
And then a frail and thin-clad governess,
Hurrying to daily misery through the rain.
Toiling, with scanty food, and scanty dress,