Classic Poem

I peddles pencils on Broadway.
I know it ain't a great career.
It's dull an' footless—so folks say—
And yet I've done it twenty year,
Held down my same old corner here
An' never missed a day.

I peddles, an' I watch the crowd.
I knows 'em—all they say an' do—
As if they shouted it out loud.
I look 'em through an' through an' through!
By crabs! they'd kill me if they knew—
They are so fine an' proud.

I knows 'em! Oh, it's in their eyes,
It's in their walk, it's in their lips!
They tries to bluff it—but I'm wise!
An' they're just children when you strips
The smirk off; an' the clerks, the chips,
Stands clean of all the lies.

I've watched so long, I scarcely see
The clo'es—it's just the faces now.
Somehow I knows their misery,
An' wonders—when? An' where? An' how?
Elbow an' shoulder—on they plough—
An' yet somehow they speaks to me.

I'm like the priest—an' all day long
They tells me what they've thought an' done.
An' some is flabby, some is strong,
An' some of 'em was dead an' gone
Before they ever saw the sun. …
I know where some of 'em belong.

I peddles pencils. Christ! An' they?
They does the things that seems worth while.
I watch 'em growin' old an' gray,
An' queer about the eyes, an' smile
To see 'em when they've made their pile,
A-totterin' up Broadway.