DOLLY sits a-quilting by her mother, stich by stitch, Gracious, how my pulses throb, how my fingers itch, While I note her dainty waist and her slender hand, As she matches this and that, she stitches strand by strand. And I long to tell her Life's a quilt and I'm a patch; Love will do the stitching if she'll only be my match. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRINGTIME by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE STORMING OF STONY POINT [JULY 16, 1779] by ARTHUR GUITERMAN THE LETTER; EDWARD ROWLAND SILL, DIED FEBRUARY 27, 1887 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH VAIN EXCUSE by WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG THE CLUE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES |