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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408575" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Black Bonnet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A day of seeming innocence, <br>A glorious sun and sky, <br>And, just above my picket fence, <br>Black Bonnet passing by. <br>In knitted gloves and quaint old dress, <br>Without a spot or smirch, <br>Her worn face lit with peacefulness, <br>Old Granny goes to church. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her hair is richly white, like milk, <br>That long ago was fair -- <br>And glossy still the old black silk <br>She keeps for &quot;chapel wear&quot;; <br>Her bonnet, of a bygone style, <br>That long has passed away, <br>She must have kept a weary while <br>Just as it is to-day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The parasol of days gone by -- <br>Old days that seemed the best -- <br>The hymn and prayer books carried high <br>Against her warm, thin breast; <br>As she had clasped -- come smiles come tears, <br>Come hardship, aye, and worse -- <br>On market days, through faded years, <br>The slender household purse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Although the road is rough and steep, <br>She takes it with a will, <br>For, since she hushed her first to sleep <br>Her way has been uphill. <br>Instinctively I bare my head <br>(A sinful one, alas!) <br>Whene'er I see, by church bells led, <br>Brave Old Black Bonnet pass. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For she has known the cold and heat <br>And dangers of the Track: <br>Has fought bush-fires to save the wheat <br>And little home Out Back. <br>By barren creeks the Bushman loves, <br>By stockyard, hut, and pen, <br>The withered hands in those old gloves <br>Have done the work of men. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">..... </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They called it &quot;Service&quot; long ago <br>When Granny yet was young, <br>And in the chapel, sweet and low, <br>As girls her daughters sung. <br>And when in church she bends her head <br>(But not as others do) <br>She sees her loved ones, and her dead <br>And hears their voices too. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair as the Saxons in her youth, <br>Not forward, and not shy; <br>And strong in healthy life and truth <br>As after years went by: <br>She often laughed with sinners vain, <br>Yet passed from faith to sight -- <br>God gave her beauty back again <br>The more her hair grew white. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She came out in the Early Days, <br>(Green seas, and blue -- and grey) -- <br>The village fair, and English ways, <br>Seemed worlds and worlds away. <br>She fought the haunting loneliness <br>Where brooding gum trees stood; <br>And won through sickness and distress <br>As Englishwomen could. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">..... </div><div style="margin:10px 0">By verdant swath and ivied wall <br>The congregation's seen -- <br>White nothings where the shadows fall, <br>Black blots against the green. <br>The dull, suburban people meet <br>And buzz in little groups, <br>While down the white steps to the street <br>A quaint old figure stoops. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then along my picket fence <br>Where staring wallflowers grow -- <br>World-wise Old Age, and Common-sense! -- <br>Black Bonnet, nodding slow. <br>But not alone; for on each side <br>A little dot attends <br>In snowy frock and sash of pride, <br>And these are Granny's friends. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To them her mind is clear and bright, <br>Her old ideas are new; <br>They know her &quot;real talk&quot; is right, <br>Her &quot;fairy talk&quot; is true. <br>And they converse as grown-ups may, <br>When all the news is told; <br>The one so wisely young to-day, <br>The two so wisely old. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At home, with dinner waiting there, <br>She smooths her hair and face, <br>And puts her bonnet by with care <br>And dons a cap of lace. <br>The table minds its p's and q's <br>Lest one perchance be hit <br>By some rare dart which is a part <br>Of her old-fashioned wit. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">..... </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her son and son's wife are asleep, <br>She puts her apron on -- <br>The quiet house is hers to keep, <br>With all the youngsters gone. <br>There's scarce a sound of dish on dish <br>Or cup slipped into cup, <br>When left alone, as is her wish, <br>Black Bonnet &quot;washes up.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408575" data-title="Black Bonnet de Henry Lawson" data-description="A day of seeming innocence, 
A glorious sun and sky, 
And, just above my picket fence, 
Black Bonnet passing by. 
In knitted gloves and quaint old dress, 
Without a spot or smirch, 
Her worn face lit with peacefulness, 
Old Granny goes to church. ..."></div>
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