Poem by Josephine Preston Peabody

Early

I like to lie and wait, to see
  My Mother braid her hair.
It is as long as it can be,
  And yet she doesn't care.
  I love my Mother's hair.

And then the way her fingers go;
  They look so quick and white,--
In and out, and to and fro,
  And braiding in the light;
  And it is always right.

So then she winds it, shiny brown,
Around her head into a crown,
  Just like the day before.
And then she looks, and pats it down,
  And looks, a minute more.--
While I stay here, all still and cool.
Oh, isn't Morning beautiful?

1. The Sorrows
2. Spinning in April
3. Church-Time
4. Chestnut Stands
5. Market

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