Part 3 — HANNAH BINDING SHOES
Reading edition
Poor lone Hannah, Sitting at the window, binding shoes: Faded, wrinkled, Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse. Bright-eyed beauty once was she, When the bloom was on the tree;— Spring and winter, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Not a neighbor Passing, nod or answer will refuse To her whisper, "Is there from the fishers any news?" Oh, her heart's adrift with one On an endless voyage gone;— Night and morning, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Fair young Hannah, Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gaily wooes; Hale and clever, For a willing heart and hand he sues. May-day skies are all aglow, And the waves are laughing so! For her wedding Hannah leaves her window and her shoes.
May is passing; 'Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon cooes: Hannah shudders, For the mild south-wester mischief brews. Round the rocks of Marblehead, Outward bound, a schooner sped; Silent, lonesome, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
'Tis November: Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews, From Newfoundland Not a sail returning will she lose, Whispering hoarsely: "Fishermen, Have you, have you heard of Ben?" Old with watching, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Twenty winters Bleak and drear the ragged shore she views. Twenty seasons:— Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o'er the sea;— Hopeless, faithful, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Lucy Larcom [1824-1893]