Classic Poem

The winds of the winter are keenest that blow
Round the bleak, brownstone walls of the millionaires' row.
And the sin of uncharity seems most unkind
In a street full of palaces swept by the wind.
Thus it was in the gloom of a December night
As two met on the avenue; one with her bright,
Ragged shawl drawn close round her face and her form,
And her skirts blown and torn, seemed a wraith of the storm!
The other was clad well from headpiece to toe,
And the lamp threw his long silhouette on the snow.

" Could you spare me a penny? " a pleading voice said.
But the man strode along without turning his head.
" Don't bother me, girl, you can work for your living. "
And he said to himself: " I can't always be giving! "
" But please, sir! " she cried, as she followed him close,
" You have a bouquet; would you give me a rose? "

At her touch Allan Gray at once slackened his pace,
And he thought, as he threw a sharp glance at her face,
That, somewhere, he had seen the girl's features before.
But then he had traveled two continents o'er,
Seen fair faces at courts, at beaches and balls,
And others, wine-flushed ones, in Revelry's halls.
So he only looked once at the bright, pleading eyes
And thought: " Hum! She's pretty, good figure and size! "
" No, girl! Are you crazy? Think you I've been buying,
At a dollar each, roses to keep you from crying?
Why, I carry the flowers to my own lady true:
Ha! To think they should go to a creature like you!
But you're saucy, I swear, and you're pretty as she,
But my flowers are my fortune with her , don't you see? "

A gust of wind near blew the shawl from her face,
Where a flush told how keenly she felt her disgrace.
" Have a care, sir, " she cried, " or your fair mistress may
Give you back your own roses to carry away.
There are places and times when flowers cease to be sweet,
And you'll want in the house what you slight in the street! "

Quick as flash down the side street the vision has flown,
And a laugh seems to float back to him there, alone.
Allan Gray had a practical turn to his mind,
And, of late, though his bachelor years had been kind,
He had said to his mirror: " Old man, you must marry,
You've more sins than a celibate safely may carry! "
Miss Edith Van Alstyne was comely and sweet,
Of good blood, and her father stood well on " the street " ,
And quoth Allan to Allan: " I'll charm this young dove,
She has beauty and money, I'll manage the love. "

There are women whose hearts are as weak as their hands,
And who never withstand a rich suitor's demands;
Like the toys, which, if you give a coin to their hold,
Straightway open their doors and their treasures unfold!
There are others, thank God! like the bud of a rose,
That the sunshine of love will alone make unclose,
And no sweeter or truer of these ever grew
Than was Edith Van Alstyne, as shrewd people knew.

Ting-a-ling ! went the bell at a stained crystal door,
While Allan breathed his roses' perfume o'er and o'er
Ere the summons was answered. " Miss Edith? Oh, yes;
She has just now come in, sah, and gone up to dress. "
All parlors seem dreary when one has to wait,
So Allan scanned the paintings and gazed in the grate,
While he likened his heart to the fierce, glowing coal,
And a statue of Psyche to Edith, sweet soul!

Then came visions of nights at the opera flown,
When Wagner's sound-dreams or Bellini's sweet tone
Seemed to weave a new charm round a fair, thoughtful face
In box number nine. Ah, he well knew the place!
" I must push my scheme now, " thought he. " Had I a lute,
Or that handsome new tenor to trumpet my suit!
I've spent enough money her coy heart to soften.
Yet, hang it! if she had accepted more often
The rides and the presents, and, yes, and my puns,
'Twould have suited me finely, despite florists' duns. "
Anon, down the stairs swept a soft rustling dress,
Gleamed through the dark portieres a draped loveliness,
And a voice, " Mr. Gray? " on the deep silence fell.
" Ah, how charming, Miss Edith, I hope you are well.
I brought you some roses. Those florists, the churls,
Begrudged me these beauties, the " Mermets" and " Pearls."
Pray take them, and with them, for I cannot wait,
My love, and to-night, dear, oh, tell me my fate! "

Slowly raising her eyes from the floor as he closed,
With her form 'gainst the curtains unconsciously posed,
" Mr. Gray! Were I penniless, friendless, this hour,
Would you give me a penny, or even a flower? "
" Why, of course, I would give you my fortune, my all,
Now ask me for anything, I'll heed the call! "
" Then why, when I asked you a half hour ago,
Did you spurn me away? Does your heart vary so?
Yes, 'twas I, but don't think I was foolish to prove you,
To try if, unknown, unadorned, I could move you.
Had I begged of you love, still unheard might I go,
For I fear that you have none of that to bestow.
And, to-day, father's fortune is swept away quite,
So I play my true r├┤le as a beggar to-night.
What? " That makes a difference ?" Yes, so I thought.
Here, you are forgetting the roses you brought.
Why leave in such haste? You did never before!
And I thought you knew how to unfasten the door!
Let me help you. There, pull the small knob; here's your cane.
It's freezing — too bad — and beginning to rain!
Farewell! If you tell your friends father's sad tale,
Please mention his daughter is not yet for sale! "

Signora Piccova, in making her rounds,
Next morn clapped her hands and gave three little bounds,
As she found in an ash barrel, covered up warm,
Mr. Allan Gray's roses kept safely from harm,
And which, dusted and washed, made a nice little store
Of boutonnieres to sell at an uptown club door;
While who should come sauntering slowly that way
And buy a pink rosebud but Mr. A. Gray!

Time had flown and had wafted in June's perfect weather,
When two men walked the avenue, talking together.
The chimes of St. Thomas were ringing so gladly,
So tunefully, merrily, gayly, and madly,
That the twain stopped to see the gay people come out.
" Why! That's Miss Van Alstyne, without any doubt.
You know, Gray, her father went under last year,
But her ma had a million or two left, I hear. "

Yes, the " beggar " is robed in rich satin and lace,
And the look of a happy bride softens her face,
While as Mendelssohn's music strikes on Allan's ears
It carries a moral, for he fancies he hears:
A woman who's worthy to be a man's wife,
Though she has not a penny, is worth a man's life!