C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Nameless Pain

I SHOULD be happy with my lot:

A wife and mother,—is it not

Enough for me to be content?

What other blessing could be sent?

A quiet house, and homely ways,

That make each day like other days;

I only see Time’s shadow now

Darken the hair on baby’s brow.

No world’s work ever comes to me,

No beggar brings his misery;

I have no power, no healing art,

With bruisèd soul or broken heart.

I read the poets of the age,—

’Tis lotus-eating in a cage;

I study art, but art is dead

To one who clamors to be fed

With milk from Nature’s rugged breast,

Who longs for Labor’s lusty rest.

O foolish wish! I still should pine

If any other lot were mine.