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...ON A PALMETTO by SIDNEY LANIER BACCALAUREATE by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH THE QUARREL by KATHERINE MANSFIELD DOMESDAY BOOK: GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AN EVANGELIST'S WIFE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |