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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LITTLE WILLIE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Poor little willie
Last Line: Be a workhouse grave.
Alternate Author Name(s): Bandiera
Subject(s): Poverty


POOR little Willie,
With his many pretty wiles;
Worlds of wisdom in his looks,
And quaint, quiet smiles;
Hair of amber, touched with
Gold of heaven so brave;
All lying darkly hid
In a Workhouse Grave.

You remember little Willie;
Fair and funny fellow! he
Sprang like a lily
From the dirt of poverty.
Poor little Willie!
Not a friend was night,
When, from the cold world,
He crouched down to die.

In the day we wandered foodless,
Little Willie cried for bread:
In the night we wandered homeless,
Little Willie cried for bed.
Parted at the Workhouse door,
Not a word we said:
Ah, so tired was poor Willie,
And so sweetly sleep the dead.

'Twas in the dead of winter
We laid him in the earth;
The world brought in the New Year,
On a tide of mirth.
But, for lost little Willie,
Not a tear we crave;
Cold and Hunger cannot wake him,
In his Workhouse Grave.

WE thought him beautiful,
Felt it hard to part;
WE loved him dutiful;
Down, down, poor heart!
The storms they may beat;
The winter waves may rave;
Little Willie feels not,
In his Workhouse Grave.

No room for little Willie;
In the world he had no part,
On him stared the Gorgon-eye,
Through which looks no heart.
Come to me, said Heaven;
And, if Heaven will save,
Little matters though the door
Be a Workhouse Grave.





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