CHILD of the slums, how happy Playing there on the stair, Clad in your dirty remnants, With feet unwashed and bare. You sit all day on the doorstep, Where people pass you by, Ne'er heeding the mite of a human Making a glad mud-pie. You hear not the hurrying footsteps: You laugh and you point with fun At the rippling light on a puddle Flashing a ray of sun. You pile up stones like a castle, And then you tumble them down, And care not that labor is fruitless, You prince of the beggar-town! You play like a wealthy spendthrift That knows no end to his gold; You play like a king of the gnome-world Ruling his hunchbacks old. You play like that thot-free creature Of woods and streams—the fawn; You play like a scarlet fall-leaf Greeting the wind of dawn. You play like a god—or a savage— That knows nor time, nor place, The light of a brute thing's heaven Shines in your beggar-face. And you are the ruler of heaven, Mud-pies your ambrosial feast! Ah, close to the blissful and timeless Is a child—or a tramp—or a beast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RETURN (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE WORLD AS WILL AND REPRESENTATION' by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE by MALCOLM COWLEY SAPPHIC SUICIDE NOTE by JAMES GALVIN DESIRE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PENDULUM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 35 by JAMES JOYCE |