Dirty and dull, she plods along the street With sagging skirts and hair tucked out of sight. Her pappoose, from his creaking cab, looks out Upon the hurrying crowd; his eyes, wild, bright, Hold tales of campfire dreams, of forest things, Of bending pines that whisper all the night. He cries a bit. The mother stills his cries With sticky colored candy, smooths his clothes. She peers for bargains as she passes by And stops before the moving-picture shows. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER THE QUARREL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A SNOW-STORM; SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER by CHARLES GAMAGE EASTMAN ON A FLOWER FROM THE FIELD OF GRUTLI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS TO MY NINETH DECADE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE COUNTY OF MAYO by THOMAS LAVELLE WESTWARD HO! by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM by ALEXANDER POPE METAMORPHOSES: BOOK 8. BAUCIS AND PHILEMON by PUBLIUS OVIDIUS NASO |