Identifier: bookofgoldotherp00trow (find matches)
Title: The book of gold, and other poems
Year: 1878 (1870s)
Authors: Trowbridge, J. T. (John Townsend), 1827-1916 Charles E. Feinberg Collection of Walt Whitman (Library of Congress) DLC
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Publisher: New York : Harper & Bros.
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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ld say, Hannah Amsden pined away. Came the dull days of November, came the winter, wild and white:Lonely, listless, hours together she would sit and watch the weather, Or the cold bright constellations pulsing in the pallid night. For a twelvemonth and a day so poor Hannah pined away. Came once more the fatal morning, came the dread hours that hadbeen:All the anguish she lived over, waiting, wailing for her lover. Then the new dawn shone about her, and a sweeter dawn within. All her soul bleached white and pure, taught by suffering to endure,Taught by sorrow to know sorrow, and to bind the bleedingheart,Now a pale and placid sister in the world that lately missed her—Sweetly pale where Peace had kissed her — patient Hannah choseher part. To do good was her delight, all her study day and night; And around her, like a fragrance in the halo round a saint,Breathed the holy exhalation of her life and occupation. But the rising generation soon began to call her quaint. 62 AUNT HANNAH. y
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SO SHE STILL GOES UP AND DOWN ON HER ERRANDS THROUGH THE TOWN. For her self-forgetfulness even extended to her dress; Milliner and mantua-maker never crossed her threshold more;But the bodice, and the bonnet with the wondrous bow upon it, Kept their never-changing fashion of the faded years before. AUNT HANNAH. 63 So she still goes up and down on her errands through the town; And sometimes a school-girl titters, or an urchin stops to grin,Or a *village cur barks at her; but to her tis little matter— You may fleer or you may flatter—such deep peace her soul is in. Among all the sick and poor there is nobody so sure Of a welcome and a blessing; and who sees her once appear, Coming round some poor mans trellis with her dainty pots of jellies,Or big basket brimmed with bounty, soon forgets that she is queer. For her pleasant words, addressed to the needy and distressed,Are so touching and so tender, full of sympathy and cheer, By the time your smile is ready for the simple, dear old l

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