BESIDE her ashen hearth she sate her down, <br />Whence he she loved had fled,— <br />His children plucking at her sombre gown <br />And calling for the dead. <br /> <br />One came to her clad in the robes of May, <br />And said sweet words of cheer, <br />Bidding her bear the burden in God’s way, <br />And feel her loved ones near. <br /> <br />And she who spake thus would have given, thrice blest, <br />Long lives of happy years, <br />To clasp his children to a mother’s breast, <br />And weep his widow’s tears.<br /><br />Harriet Monroe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fortunate-one/
