 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
“MY BOY.”
Ah, winter days, be not so cold, so cold!
And if my little houseless boy you see,
Quilt all your iron shadows thick with gold,
And lap them round him—he is all to me.
And if my little houseless boy you see,
Quilt all your iron shadows thick with gold,
And lap them round him—he is all to me.
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Oh, winter winds, if ever, as you blow,
You find, in some wild place apart from joy,
A shining head, with curls along the snow,
Soften your rough voice—that will be my boy!
You find, in some wild place apart from joy,
A shining head, with curls along the snow,
Soften your rough voice—that will be my boy!
Oh, happy mothers! while you watch at night
The bright blaze making all the wide room gay,
Keep on some upper floor a little light—
My poor, lost child may chance to pass that way!
The bright blaze making all the wide room gay,
Keep on some upper floor a little light—
My poor, lost child may chance to pass that way!
And if, when all without is blind with gloom,—
Among your boys and girls, alive with joy,
A little white face peer,—make room, make room,
Between their red cheeks—that will be my boy!
Among your boys and girls, alive with joy,
A little white face peer,—make room, make room,
Between their red cheeks—that will be my boy!
False witnesses to prison may have lied
My pretty lamb—oh, warden! if you see
One strange to wrong, and ready to divide
His slice—nay, give it all, why that is he!
My pretty lamb—oh, warden! if you see
One strange to wrong, and ready to divide
His slice—nay, give it all, why that is he!
Loose from his tender limbs the cruel bands—
Even though he sinned, shall that my love destroy?
Here to your chains I give my old, rough hands,
To prison, to death will I, to save my boy!
Even though he sinned, shall that my love destroy?
Here to your chains I give my old, rough hands,
To prison, to death will I, to save my boy!
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |