Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Cinderella
By Dora Read Goodale (18661953)H
Until the generous loaves be brown:
The firelight flickers up and down;
I, waiting, ponder over it.
And, springing to my lap, she lies,
The firelight darting in her eyes,
And old traditions come to me.
“The witches ride by night,” forsooth!
The fancy-witchery of youth
Has touched the room with mystery!
I see strange faces in the grate—
A hooded monk, a muse, a fate,
An ancient knight with armor on!
The smile of one I know by day—
The face behind it drops away
And leaves a pair of burning eyes!
Where is my fairy coach and four
To take me from the narrow door,
By eager longing fancy-led?
The soul of one who lived below
A thousand years and more ago
Looks through me from her narrow eyes!
I count the heavy strokes to eight;
The fire burns lower in the grate;
A mouse is stirring in the wall!
I strike a match—I kneel before
And open wide the oven door—
King Alfred fared as ill as I!