A City Child
She dwells where never green trees grow,
On Orchard Street,—ironic name;
Where never early rose-buds blow
And blossom into fragrant flame.
Her world is pent by grim-gray walls;
For her, life means a flickering sheet,
Where spring, a shadowy screen-bird calls.
And yet she dwells on Orchard Street!
On Orchard Street,—ironic name;
Where never early rose-buds blow
And blossom into fragrant flame.
Her world is pent by grim-gray walls;
For her, life means a flickering sheet,
Where spring, a shadowy screen-bird calls.
And yet she dwells on Orchard Street!
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