I RISE in the dawn, and I kneel and blow <br />Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow; <br />And then I must scrub and bake and sweep <br />Till stars are beginning to blink and peep; <br />And the young lie long and dream in their bed <br />Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head, <br />And their ~y goes over in idleness, <br />And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress: <br />While I must work because I am old, <br />And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-song-of-the-old-mother/
