The Home

"Home" says the sweet voice, and warm Comfort rises,

Holding my soul with velvet-fingered hands;

Comfort of leafy lair and lapping fur,

Soft couches, cushions, curtains, and the stir

Of easy pleasures that the body prizes,

Of soft, swift feet to serve the least commands.

I shrink—half rise—and then it murmurs "Duty!"

Again the past rolls out—a scroll unfurled;

Allegiance and long labor due my lord

Allegiance in an idleness abhorred—

I am the squaw—the slave—the harem beauty—

I serve and serve, the han...