Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GOING HOME IN THE MORNING, by WAYNE DOUGLAS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GOING HOME IN THE MORNING, by                    
First Line: A poor little bird trilled a song in the west
Last Line: Where we all should rejoice in the morning.
Subject(s): Birds; Morning


A POOR little bird trilled a song in the west, --
A poor little bird with a stain on its breast.
Beaten down by the rain and too weak for flight,
It fell in the city unseen in the night.
As it trilled its sad song, other birds of the air,
The respectable ones, wondered who could be there.
Out in the darkness, while passing, I heard
The wail of the poor little vagabond bird.
Being homeless myself, I hunted and found
The weak little vagrant stretched out on the ground.
I raised it, and gave it of all I possessed,
A warm cosey shelter close up to my breast;
And I whispered: "Don't worry, rather whistle and sing,
You poor little innocent vagabond thing.
Very soon now the storm will have passed from the sky,
Very soon, too, the sun will be shining on high,
And you shall go home in the morning."

A broken-down man then was walking the street;
As I passed him I stayed for a moment my feet.
Cried the man: "It is hard! So many have health
And beauty and youth and pleasure and wealth,
Whilst we are unnoticed by God or by man,
Accursed and degraded, and under the ban!"
"My brother," said I, "I am seeking, like you,
For a something to eat, for a something to do;
Let us keep on our way, let us keep it together,
Through the cold and the mire and the pitiless weather,
Hoping still for the best; soon the night will be gone,
And after the night always cometh the dawn,
And we can go home in the morning."

We paused as we passed an old rickety shed;
We glanced well within -- then we glanced overhead;
The sky with the darkness was all overcast,
The snowflakes whirled down and clung to us fast;
How I fondled my bird -- it had no one to love it.
Said the man: "This is bad -- grows worse and more of it;"
But we entered the shed, and out under the lamp
Slowly drifted anigh us the form of a tramp.
To be out in the storm-blast! Ah, me! 't was a sin!
So I stepped from the shelter, invited her in,
And took the poor babe, without wasting of words,
And then, you'll perceive, I had two little birds!
And we all stood there hungry, haggard, and wan,
Awaiting in silence the coming of dawn,
So we could go home in the morning.

An hour ere dawn, being cold and a-shiver,
We moved all together a-down to the river.
Thus passing, the poor little bird from the west
Trilled a poor little song. It was doing its best
To help us along, and it tried hard to sing;
But being a famished and pitiful thing,
It skipped now and then a few bars, and a note
Died out now and then in its weak little throat.
The babe on my arm lay and listened awhile,
Then looked in my face with a wondering smile,
As out through my vest, that was ragged and torn,
Peeped the poor little bird, who thought it was morn,
And twittered, and looked at the child and its mother;
And the child and the bird grieved the one for the other,
And thought it was strange in a city of priests
Two such innocent things should be out on the streets.
Well, we passed on our way -- a vagabond crew,
Yet I think in our hearts every one of us knew
That we should go home in the morning.

We came to the ferry-house, stately and tall,
And crowded for warmth in the shade of the wall.
Then I saw, 'mid the dirt and the filth at my feet,
A crust of nice bread lying out on the street;
I grasped it and gave to the woman; she smiled
And said, "It don't matter now, me and the child,
We are going home in the morning."

It was very near daybreak, I noticed at last
A streak like the dawn afar off in the east.
Then we moved all together -- they loosened the bar --
We passed through the gates that were standing ajar;
Moved down the incline where, toward us afloat,
From over the river was drifting the boat.
We had nothing to pay -- no passage -- no fares --
For the houseless and homeless there's nobody cares;
With the bird and the child and the vagabond crew
I sailed from the shore, and I very well knew
Where we all should rejoice in the morning.





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