I cried at Pity-not at Pain- I heard a Woman say "Poor Child"-and something in her voice Convinced me-of me- So long I fainted, to myself It seemed the common way, And Health, and Laughter, curious things- To look at, like a Toy- To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy And see the Parcel rolled- And carried, we supposed-to Heaven, For children, made of Gold- But not to touch, or wish for, Or think of, with sigh- And so and so-had been to us, Had God willed differently. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY BEAUTY by EDMUND SPENSER SONG OF THE FLOUR-MILL by EDWIN ARNOLD SONG BEFORE SORROW by LOUISE A. BALDWIN SONNET OF FISHES by GEORGE BARKER WISCONSIN by CORA BLAKESLEE BEEBE THE WATER-SPRINGS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE FRIGHTENED PATH by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |