06 November 2013

Common Things - An 1848 Poem

By Mrs. Hawkshaw.
The sunshine is a glorious thing,
That comes alike to all,
Lighting the peasant's lowly cot,
The noble's painted hall.
The moonlight is a gentle thing,
It through the window gleams
Upon the snowy pillow where
The happy infant dreams.
It shines upon the fisher's boat
Out on the lonely sea;
Or where the little lambkins lie,
Beneath the old oak tree.
The dew drops on the summer morn
Sparkle upon the grass;
The village children brush them off,
That through the meadows pass.
There are no gems in monarch's crowns
More beautiful than they;
And yet we scarcely notice them,
But tread them off in play.
Poor robin on the pear-tree sings,
Beside the cottage-door;
The heath flower fills the air with sweets,
Upon the pathless moor.
There are many lovely things,
As many pleasant tones,
For these who sit by cottage hearths
As those who sit on thrones.
March 23, 1848. Pittsfield Sun 48(2479): 1. The Poetry feature.