Poem by Josephine Preston Peabody

The Sorrows

    If This is all it will be like,
    I wish to Die;--I don't care how--
    While I am very, very young;
      As young as almost Now.

    They never felt what Sorrow was;
    Or never learned their Golden Rule;
    They say, _These are your happiest days_,
      --With School,--School,--School!

    When Saturday's all out of breath
    With all the week before in sight;--
    And Monday coming after you
      Spoils every Sunday night!

    And Nothing done but yesterdays;
    And Nothing coming but to-morrows!
    Don't cheer me up. Please let me be.
      --I have the Sorrows.

1. Cow-Bells
2. Curls
3. Little Side-Streets
4. Wing-Sprouts
5. Spinning in April

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