Explore "Lillian Stewart" by Edgar Lee Masters on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I was the daughter of Lambert Hutchins, / Born in a cottage near the grist-mill, / Reared in the mansion there on the hill, / With its spires, bay-windows, and roof of slate.
How proud my mother was of the mansion!
How proud of father's rise in the world!
And how my father loved and watched us, / And guarded our happiness.
But I believe the house was a curse, / For father's fortune was little beside it;
And when my husband found he had married / A girl who was really poor, / He taunted me with the spires, / And called the house a fraud on the world, / A treacherous lure to young men, raising hopes / Of a dowry not to be had;
And a man while selling his vote / Should get enough from the people's betrayal / To wall the whole of his family in.
He vexed my life till I went back home / And lived like an old maid till I died, / Keeping house for father.