Madam Grundy.

    Madam, they say, has lost her way.
    Tell me, has she passed thither?
    Let her alone and she'll come home,
    And bring her tales all with her.

Jean Blewett

Jean Blewett was a Canadian author, journalist, and poet. Born in Scotia, Ontario, she became well-known for her poetry and was awarded the part of lyrical poet at the World’s Fair in Chicago, 1893. Her notable works were often published in literary magazines. Besides poetry, Blewett also wrote stories and worked as a journalist, gaining considerable respect in both fields. She passed away in Chatham, Ontario, in 1934. Her legacy remains a significant part of Canadian literary history.

Jean Blewett

The Native Born.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Remembrance.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

The Preacher Down At Coles.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

As Good As A Girl.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Mrs. Grundy

"Step very softly, sweet Quiet-foot,
Stumble not, whisper not, smile not:
By this dark ivy stoop cheek and brow.
Still even thy heart! What seest thou?..."

"High-coifed, broad-browed, aged, suave yet grim,
A large flat face, eyes keenly dim,
Staring at nothing - that's me! - and yet,
With a hate one could never, no, never forget ..."

"This is my world, my garden, my home,
Hither my father bade mother to come
And bear me out of the dark into light,
And happy I was in her tender sight.

"And then, thou frail flower, she died and went,
Forgetting my pitiless banishment,
And that Old Woman - an Aunt - she said,
Came hither, lodged, fattened, and made her bed.

"Oh yes, thou most blessed, from Monday to Sunday,
Has lived on me, preyed on ...

Walter De La Mare

Her Little Way.

    'Tis woman rules the whole world still,
    Though faults the critics say she has;
    She smiles her smile and works her will -
    'Tis just a little way she has.

Jean Blewett

The Old Bad Woman

        The Old Bad Woman was coming along,
        Busily humming a sort of song.

        You could barely see, below her bonnet,
        Her chin where her long nose rested on it.

        One tooth thrust out on her lower lip,
        And she held one hand upon her hip.

        Then we went to thinking mighty fast,
        For we knew our time had come at last.

        For what we had done and didn't do
        The Old Bad Woman would put us through.

        If you cried enough to fill your hat,
        She wouldn't care; she was used to that.

        Of the jam we had eaten, she would know;
        How we ran barefooted in the snow;

        How we cried when they made us take our bath;
        How we tied the grass acros...

John Charles McNeill

The Fairy Woman's Song.

The fairy woman maketh moan,
    "Well-a-day, and well-a-day,
Forsooth I brought thee one rose, one,
    And thou didst cast my rose away."
Hark! Oh hark, she mourneth yet,
    "One good ship - the good ship sailed,
One bright star, at last it set,
    One, one chance, forsooth it failed."

Clear thy dusk hair from thy veiled eyes,
    Show thy face as thee beseems,
For yet is starlight in the skies,
    Weird woman piteous through my dreams.
"Nay," she mourns, "forsooth not now,
    Veiled I sit for evermore,
Rose is shed, and charmèd prow
    Shall not touch the charmèd shore."

There thy sons that were to be,
    Thy small gamesome children play;
There all loves that men foresee
    Straight as wands enrich the way.
Dove-eyed, ...

Jean Ingelow

In The Nursery.

Where do you go, Bob, when you 're fast asleep?'
'Where? O well, once I went into a deep
Mine, father told of, and a cross man said
He'd make me help to dig, and eat black bread.
I saw the Queen once, in her room, quite near.
She said, "You rude boy, Bob, how came you here?"'

'Was it like mother's boudoir?'

        'Grander far,
Gold chairs and things - all over diamonds - Ah!'

'You're sure it was the Queen?'
        'Of course, a crown
Was on her, and a spangly purple gown.'

'I went to heaven last night.'

        'O Lily, no,
How could you?'

    'Yes I did, they told me so,
And my best doll, my favourite, with the blue
Frock, Jasmine, I took her to heaven too.'
'What was it like?'

    'A kind of - I can...

Jean Ingelow

Her Mission.

    She is so winsome and so wise
    She sways me at her will,
    And oft the question will arise,
    What mission does she fill?
    O then I say with pride untold,
    And love beyond degree,
    This woman with the heart of gold,
    She just keeps house for me -
                    For me,
    She just keeps house for me!

    A full content dwells on her face,
    She's quite in love with life,
    And for a title wears with grace
    The sweet old-fashioned "wife."
    Our children climb upon her knee,
    And nestle on her breast,
    And ah! her mission seems to me
    The grandest and the best.

    O then I say with pride untold,
    And love beyond degree,
    This woman with the heart of gold,
    She just keep...

Jean Blewett