Here you will find the Poem Going East of poet Frances Ellen Watkins
She came from the East a fair, young bride, With a light and a bounding heart, To find in the distant West a home With her husband to make a start. He builded his cabin far away, Where the prairie flower bloomed wild; Her love made lighter all his toil, And joy and hope around him smiled. She plied her hands to life's homely tasks, And helped to build his fortunes up; While joy and grief, like bitter and sweet, Were mingled and mixed in her cup. He sowed in his fields of golden grain, All the strength of his manly prime; Nor music of birds, nor brooks, nor bees, Was as sweet as the dollar's chime. She toiled and waited through weary years For the fortune that came at length; But toil and care and hope deferred, Had stolen and wasted her strength. The cabin changed to a stately home, Rich carpets were hushing her tread; But light was fading from her eye, And the bloom from her cheek had fled. Slower and heavier grew her step, While his gold and his gains increased; But his proud domain had not the charm Of her humble home in the East. Within her eye was a restless light, And a yearning that never ceased, A longing to see the dear old home She had left in the distant East. A longing to clasp her mother's hand, And nestle close to her heart, And to feel the heavy cares of life Like the sun-kissed shadows depart. Her husband was adding field to field, And new wealth to his golden store; And little thought the shadow of death Was entering in at his door. He had no line to sound the depths Of her tears repressed and unshed; Nor dreamed 'mid plenty a human heart Could be starving, but not for bread. The hungry heart was stilled at last; Its restless, baffled yearning ceased. A lonely man sat by the bier Of a corpse that was going East.