Explore "To My Laundress" by Ambrose Bierce on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Saponacea, wert thou not so fair / I'd curse thee for thy multitude of sins -- / For sending home my clothes all full of pins -- / A shirt occasionally that's a snare / And a delusion, got, the Lord knows where, / The Lord knows why -- a sock whose outs and ins / None know, nor where it ends nor where begins, / And fewer cuffs than ought to be my share.
But when I mark thy lilies how they grow, / And the red roses of thy ripening charms, / I bless the lovelight in thy dark eyes dreaming.
I'll never pay thee, but I'd gladly go / Into the magic circle of thine arms, / Supple and fragrant from repeated steaming.