Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DEAD DOLL, by MARGARET THOMPSON JANVIER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DEAD DOLL, by                    
First Line: You needn't be trying to comfort me - I tell you my dolly is dead!
Last Line: "in her head."
Alternate Author Name(s): Vandergrift, Margaret
Subject(s): Children; Dolls; Toys; Childhood


You needn't be trying to comfort me -- I tell you
my dolly is dead!
There's no use in saying she isn't, with a crack
like that in her head.
It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to
have my tooth out, that day;
And then, when the man 'most pulled my head off,
you hadn't a word to say.
And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you
say you can mend it with glue:
As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just
suppose it was you?
You might make her look all mended -- but what
do I care for looks?
Why, glue's for chairs and tables, and toys and
the backs of books!
My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it's
the awfullest crack!
It just makes me sick to think of the sound when
her poor head went whack
Against that horrible brass thing that holds up
the little shelf.
Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I
know that I did it myself!
I think you must be crazy -- you'll get her another
head!
What good would forty heads do her? l tell you
my dolly is dead!
And to think I hadn't quite finished her elegant
new spring hat!
And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie
on that horrid cat!
When my mamma gave me that ribbon -- I was
playing out in the yard --
She said to me, most expressly, "Here's a ribbon
for Hildegarde."
And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde
saw me do it;
But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't
believe she knew it!"
But I know that she knew it now, and I just
believe, I do,
That her poor little heart was broken, and so her
head broke too.
Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head
had been hit!
For I've hit it over and over, and it hasn't
cracked a bit.
But since the darling is dead, she'll want to be
buried, of course:
We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you
shall be the horse;
And I'll walk behind and cry, and we'll put her
in this, you see --
This dear little box -- and we'll bury her there out
under the maple-tree.
And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one
he made for my bird;
And he'll put what I tell him on it -- yes, every
single word!
I shall say here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful
doll, who is dead;
She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack
in her head."




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