Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PRISONER'S CHILD, by ELIZA L. SPROAT

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THE PRISONER'S CHILD, by            
First Line: The dull chill prison building
Last Line: My wild, wild rose.
Subject(s): Children; Prisons & Prisoners; Childhood

THE dull, chill prison building,
Oh, what a gloomy sight!
It wears in boldest morning
The coward scowl of night.
The warm, fresh light approaches
And shuddering turns away;
Within its shadow, looming foul,
No joysome thing will stay.
Yet there's a light within my cell,
A lovely light its walls enclose;
My happy child -- my daughter pure --
My wild, wild rose.

The prison sounds are dreary
To one who hears them long;
The murderer talking to himself,
The drunkard's crazy song.
My prison-door grates harshly,
It bodes the jailer's scowl;
The jailer's dog sleeps all the day,
To wake at night and howl.
Yet there is music in my cell,
And Joy's own voice its walls enclose;
My heaven-bird -- my gladsome girl --
My wild, wild rose.

Her mellow, golden accents
O'erflow the air around,
As if the joyous sunshine
Resolved itself to sound.
She carols clear at morning,
And prattles sweet at noon;
She sings to rest the weary sun,
And ringeth up the moon;
And when in sleep she visits home.
(My daughter knows the angels well,)
She'll fearless rouse the awful night.
Her happy dreams to tell.

Oh, some have many treasures,
But other I have none;
The dear Creator gave me
My blessings all in one.
The wealth of many jewels
Is garner'd in her eyes;
The worth of many loving hearts
Within her bosom lies;
She's more to me than daily bread,
And more to me than night's repose;
My staff, my flower, my praise, my prayer --
My wild, wild rose.

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