 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
LITTLE MADGE'S WINDOW-GARDEN.
When lying at night on a couch of pain,
'Tis strange how each trivial thing
Will often, with clasp like the ivy's grasp,
To an old man's memory cling!
And here as I lie with the nurse asleep,
And the chamber quiet and still,
My mind brings back from a score of years
Little Madge and her window-sill.
'Tis strange how each trivial thing
Will often, with clasp like the ivy's grasp,
To an old man's memory cling!
And here as I lie with the nurse asleep,
And the chamber quiet and still,
My mind brings back from a score of years
Little Madge and her window-sill.
Right back of my room was a tenement-house;
On a level my eyes could see,
As after my dinner I took my smoke,
A sight that was pleasant to me.
A weakling child with a pallid face—
A little bit lame she seemed—
Who bent o'er a treasure of treasures to her,
Like one who in asking dreamed.
On a level my eyes could see,
As after my dinner I took my smoke,
A sight that was pleasant to me.
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A little bit lame she seemed—
Who bent o'er a treasure of treasures to her,
Like one who in asking dreamed.
A garden it was on a window-sill,
The queerest that ever was seen—
Three plants in some battered tomato-cans,
And never a one was green.
Yet she looked at them all so lovingly there,
And watered and tended them so,
I knew she was filled with an earnest hope
That the withered old sticks would grow.
The queerest that ever was seen—
Three plants in some battered tomato-cans,
And never a one was green.
Yet she looked at them all so lovingly there,
And watered and tended them so,
I knew she was filled with an earnest hope
That the withered old sticks would grow.
My interest heightened as every day
The child to the window-sill came,
The twigs still shriveled and void of life,
Though she tended them all the same;
Till I well remember one beautiful morn
How a look sympathetic I cast,
When I heard her exclaim to her mother within
That a bud made a showing at last.
The child to the window-sill came,
The twigs still shriveled and void of life,
Though she tended them all the same;
Till I well remember one beautiful morn
How a look sympathetic I cast,
When I heard her exclaim to her mother within
That a bud made a showing at last.
“'Tis the easiest thing for a well-to-do man
When 'twill pleasure a poor sickly child,
To give her a beautiful plant to tend”—
I said to myself, and I smiled.
So straightway I ordered a florist to send
A double geranium fine
To the little lame girl in the tenement-house,
But not as a present of mine.
When 'twill pleasure a poor sickly child,
To give her a beautiful plant to tend”—
I said to myself, and I smiled.
So straightway I ordered a florist to send
A double geranium fine
To the little lame girl in the tenement-house,
But not as a present of mine.
And after my dinner was over next day,
To my window I went to see,
And there my double geranium stood
To the right of her withered three.
There, gazing in pride on its blossoms of red,
The pale little girl bending o'er,
Looked as though she had come to good fortune at last,
With nothing to look for more.
To my window I went to see,
And there my double geranium stood
To the right of her withered three.
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The pale little girl bending o'er,
Looked as though she had come to good fortune at last,
With nothing to look for more.
Sometimes on a Sunday a bearded man,
With a pipe in his mouth a-light,
Would stand at her shoulder and something say
To show he was pleased at the sight.
But I felt quite sure in my innermost heart,
And the thought set my pulses astir,
That less did he care for the fine, showy flower,
Than the pleasure it gave unto her.
With a pipe in his mouth a-light,
Would stand at her shoulder and something say
To show he was pleased at the sight.
But I felt quite sure in my innermost heart,
And the thought set my pulses astir,
That less did he care for the fine, showy flower,
Than the pleasure it gave unto her.
How she showered the dust from its emerald leaves!
And oh! with what perfect delight,
She watched as the tiny and wonderful buds
Their petals unfolded to sight!
And when she coquettishly turned round her head,
And looked at her treasure and smiled,
I thought of how little 'twould cost to the rich
To pleasure some innocent child.
And oh! with what perfect delight,
She watched as the tiny and wonderful buds
Their petals unfolded to sight!
And when she coquettishly turned round her head,
And looked at her treasure and smiled,
I thought of how little 'twould cost to the rich
To pleasure some innocent child.
On a tour for the summer I started away,
And my business cares left behind;
The pleasure of travel soon drove every trace
Of the tenement child from my mind;
But when I returned to the city at last,
In my heart was an ominous thrill,
When I looked from my window when dinner was done
At the opposite window-sill.
And my business cares left behind;
The pleasure of travel soon drove every trace
Of the tenement child from my mind;
But when I returned to the city at last,
In my heart was an ominous thrill,
When I looked from my window when dinner was done
At the opposite window-sill.
The geranium stood in its place of pride;
The other three plants had leaved;
A wan little woman in black was there,
With the face of a woman that grieved.
The bearded man I had seen before,
When something the woman had said,
Looked down on the plants with a vacant air,
And mournfully nodded his head.
The other three plants had leaved;
A wan little woman in black was there,
With the face of a woman that grieved.
402
When something the woman had said,
Looked down on the plants with a vacant air,
And mournfully nodded his head.
I soon learned the name of the child they had lost,
I found where her body it lay,
With a low wooden cross at the head of the grave,
And the green turf over the clay.
And somehow, it soothes me a little to-night,
Although such a trivial thing,
That I planted each year a geranium
At her head in the days of the spring.
I found where her body it lay,
With a low wooden cross at the head of the grave,
And the green turf over the clay.
And somehow, it soothes me a little to-night,
Although such a trivial thing,
That I planted each year a geranium
At her head in the days of the spring.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |