 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
267
TO A CHIMNEY-SWEEPER.
Poor son of Afric! in the deepest cellOf thy swart bosom mirth has taken root—
Thy calling is a lofty one, and soot
Accords with thy complexion passing well.
Thou art an actor, and thy “ching-e-ring,”
While standing on the top of chimney dark,
All grinningly, like Jim Crow at the Park,
In gravity unlocks the comic spring.
By way of flues to win a station high
Bespeaketh true originality.
Thou canst not twice thy coat the same way don,
For collar, sleeve, and back are partly gone,
And Time, who is not partial to the graces,
Hath run his dagger through in many places.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |