|
Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A STRAY CHILD, by ELIZA SPROAT TURNER Poet's Biography First Line: The chill november day was done Last Line: "I should get lost without it." Variant Title(s): A Little Goose | |||
THE chill November day was done, The working world home faring; The wind came roaring through the streets And set the gas-lights flaring; And hopelessly and aimlessly The scared old leaves were flying; When, mingled with the sighing wind, I heard a small voice crying. And shivering on the corner stood A child of four, or over; No cloak or hat her small, soft arms, And wind blown curls to cover. Her dimpled face was stained with tears; Her round blue eyes ran over; She cherished in her wee, cold hand, A bunch of faded clover. And one hand round her treasure while She slipped in mine the other: Half scared, half confidential, said, "Oh! please, I want my mother!" "Tell me your street and number, pet: Don't cry, I'll take you to it." Sobbing she answered, "I forget: The organ made me do it. "He came and played at Milly's steps, The monkey took the money; And so I followed down the street, The monkey was so funny. I've walked about a hundred hours, From one street to another: The monkey's gone, I've spoiled my flowers, Oh! please, I want my mother." "But what's your mother's name? and what The street? Now think a minute." "My mother's name is mamma dear -- The street -- I can't begin it." "But what is strange about the house, Or new -- not like the others?" "I guess you mean my trundle-bed, Mine and my little brother's. "Oh dear! I ought to be at home To help him say his prayers, -- He's such a baby he forgets; And we are both such players; -- And there's a bar to keep us both From pitching on each other, For Harry rolls when he's asleep: Oh dear! I want my mother." The sky grew stormy; people passed All muffled, homeward faring: You'll have to spend the night with me," I said at last, despairing. I tied a kerchief round her neck -- "What ribbon's this, my blossom?" "Why don't you know?" she smiling, said, And drew it from her bosom. A card with number, street, and name; My eyes astonished met it; "For," said the little one, "you see I might sometimes forget it: And so I wear a little thing That tells you all about it; For mother says she's very sure I should get lost without it." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ANGEL'S VISIT by ELIZA SPROAT TURNER THE WORMS AT HEAVEN'S GATE by WALLACE STEVENS IDYLLS OF THE KING: MERLIN AND VIVIEN by ALFRED TENNYSON SONNET: TO J.M.K. by ALFRED TENNYSON LEE TO THE REAR [MAY 12, 1864] by JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON ACHIEVEMENT'S SILVER CRY by MARGARETE ROSE AKIN THE ENGINE by ALEXANDER ANDERSON INFLUENCE by BELLE BEARDEN BARRY |
|