Classic Poem

One day in March I saw a lean boy standing
On Water Street, down by the Steamboat Landing;
All rags he was and tatters; and his features,
They were but skin and bone, like some dried creature's;
One foot was bare, the other wore a stocking:
He was a sight both picturesque and shocking.
Ten years of age he might have been, or younger;
His eyes were bright with fever-light of hunger;
His gaze he fastened with a wistful staring
Upon an orange that a man was paring.

The man tossed him an orange big and yellow;
You should have seen that famine-shrunken fellow:
He skipped along the frosty wharf, not heeding
How that glad prank did bruise his foot to bleeding;
He held the fruit aloft for fond inspection,
Then hugged it close with ravenous affection;
Then, seated on an anchor, at his leisure
Sucked fragrant draughts of epicureal pleasure.

I looked upon the man who caused this gladness;
He glanced aside with smile of thoughtful sadness.