A TINY, blue-eyed, elfin lass Meets me upon the street I pass In going to the ferry; Barefooted, scantly clothed, and thin, With little weazen cheeks and chin, Yet always chirk and merry: Ever merry, however pale, I always hear her, as I draw near her: "'Ere's the Mail, sir! -- Mail? -- Mail?" With that same piping little tune, She waits there every afternoon, Selling her bunch of papers; She scarcely looks aside to see What's passing by, of grief or glee -- No childish tricks or capers; Her pattering bare feet never fail To run and meet me, and chirping greet me, "'Ere's the Mail, sir! -- Mail? -- Mail?" Her dingy frock is scant and torn; Her old, old face looks wan and worn, Yet always sweet and sunny; Week in, week out, she is the same -- I asked her once what was her name, And, jingling all her money, Holding a paper up for sale, The little midget answered, "Bridget! Want the Mail, sir? -- Mail? -- Mail?" I wonder where she goes at night, And in what nook the poor young sprite Finds room for rest and sleeping; I wonder if her little bones Go home to blows and cuffs, and tones That roughly set her weeping -- When, rainy days, the pennies fail And few are buying, for all her crying, "'Ere's the Mail, sir! -- Mail? -- Mail?" O rich and happy people! you Whose ways are smooth, and woes are few, Whose life brims o'er with blisses, Pity the little patient face, That never knows the tender grace Of kind caress or kisses. For you, the blessings never fail; For her 't is only to wait there lonely And cry, "The Mail, sir? -- Mail? -- Mail?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET TO MASTER GABRIELL HARVEY, DOCTOR OF LAWES by EDMUND SPENSER A MOTHER'S PICTURE by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 2. MUTUAL LOVE by PHILIP AYRES TOM O' BEDLAM'S SONG by FRANCIS BEAUMONT |