Sonnet Written on Picking up from a Footh-Path, the Fragments of a Broken Bottle
Unknown , who next this narrow path may pass,
And Night, from Caution's eye may soon conceal
These little bits of lacerating glass,
That slily through the shoeless skin may steal.
Some son of Toil, perhaps, this way may tread.
Whose hands, unwearied, now his children feed;
When Evening leads him to his homely bed,
I'll save him — and my soul approves the deed!
Yes — I shall, save the foot that might have bled,
Shall save the partner of his heart from woe;
Save for his infant group their " daily bread, "
The tears that anguish might have forced to flow.
If such salvation crowns a minute's care,
The Mind's a monster that would leave it there.
And Night, from Caution's eye may soon conceal
These little bits of lacerating glass,
That slily through the shoeless skin may steal.
Some son of Toil, perhaps, this way may tread.
Whose hands, unwearied, now his children feed;
When Evening leads him to his homely bed,
I'll save him — and my soul approves the deed!
Yes — I shall, save the foot that might have bled,
Shall save the partner of his heart from woe;
Save for his infant group their " daily bread, "
The tears that anguish might have forced to flow.
If such salvation crowns a minute's care,
The Mind's a monster that would leave it there.
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