Classic Poem

Wind in the South; a fresh, sweet, winter day;
'Twould have been sad to see it go away,
If 'twere not that the sunset's signal-lights
Glimmered awhile across the Jersey heights,
Then, lightly dancing o'er the river, came
And set some New York windows all aflame.
(From a clear sunset I can always borrow
God's sweet half promise of a fair to-morrow.)

But, while I gazed upon that splendid sight,
My mind would take a heavy, care-winged flight
Up to a small back garret, far away,
Where I had stood at two o'clock to-day.

Want — want — want — want! it hung 'round everywhere;
It threw its odors on the sickly air!
The room was somewhat smaller, to begin,
Than I would put a span of horses in;
The floor was rough and damp as floor could be;
No picture on the walls but Poverty;
The bed was ragged, scanty, hard, and drear;
A rough-made, empty crib was standing near;
The " window " 'd never felt the sun's warm stare,
Or breathed a breath of good old-fashioned air;

A little, worn-out doll some child had had,
Looking, like its surroundings, rough and sad,
And dressed in rags and pinched and famine-faced,
But bearing still some marks of girlish taste;
A gaunt, gray kitten, showing every sign
That it was on the last life of its nine,
Though trying hard to feel quite sleek and fat,
And not a very care-worn, desolate cat;
A man, so grieved my heart can see him now,
With frightful sorrow printed on his brow;

A rough, wood coffin stood there near the bed,
Looking uneasy even for the dead;
A little, pallid face I saw therein —
A niceish-looking child she must have been,
As sweet as ever need to feed a glance,
If she had only had one-half a chance.
But still, she woke a thought I could not smother —
" That child was murdered in some way or other. "

And my opinion didn't seem much amiss
When the man spoke up, something like to this: