Classic Poem

[ AN INCIDENT FROM THE NEWSPAPER ]

Yes , brown and rosy, perhaps, like you,
Was the little child they have not found;
Or perhaps his eyes, like yours, were blue,
And his poor, sweet head faint-golden too —
The little child who was drowned.

I hardly think his mother was right —
Did she have it? — not to give him the bread;
But he shut the door, and then — " Good night;
(Yes, he went alone, and without any light " ),
" I'll never come home, " he said.

Poor little child, he was seven years old.
Why, the bird's wild nest was new in the tree;
There were roses enough for him to hold
In his two small hands. — But the river is cold
In the summer-time, you see.

From the trouble of tears where did he go? —
Where did he go with his two bare feet?
That life was bitter he seemed to know,
(What manner of bread did he think to eat?) —
Did he know that death was sweet?