LITERARY SPHERE

Anna Laetitia Barbauld's "Washing-Day": A Detailed Guide The Poem: Washing-Day ---and their voice, Turning again towards childish treble, pipes And whistles in its sound. --- The Muses are turned gossips; they have lost The buskined step, and clear high-sounding phrase, Language of gods. Come then, domestic Muse, In slipshod measure loosely prattling on Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream, Or drowning flies, or shoe lost in the mire By little whimpering boy, with rueful face; Come, Muse, and sing the dreaded Washing-Day. Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend, With bowed soul, full well ye ken the day Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on Too soon;—for to that day nor peace belongs Nor comfort;—ere the first gray streak of dawn, The red-armed washers come and chase repose. Nor plea...