 | English Roses |  |
“TOM'S A-COLD!”
“Tom's a-cold!”
Thus the burden came to me,
Doubtful if to stand or flee
From the darkness fold-on-fold.
Was it some poor child astray,
While its teeth went chitter chatter
And each foot kept pitter patter,
Just like castanets at play?
I who fancied I was bold,
Trembled at that troubled cry
Wrung from pain and misery—
“Tom's a-cold!”
Thus the burden came to me,
Doubtful if to stand or flee
From the darkness fold-on-fold.
40
While its teeth went chitter chatter
And each foot kept pitter patter,
Just like castanets at play?
I who fancied I was bold,
Trembled at that troubled cry
Wrung from pain and misery—
“Tom's a-cold!”
“Tom's a-cold!”
And the words came closer still
Down the hollow in the hill,
With an agony untold.
It was some belated boy,
With a frame that shook and shivered
And the breath that caught and quivered,
Mocking our bright Christmas joy.
I in selfishness grown old
Heard that anguish beating time,
With the blast in winter rime—
“Tom's a-cold!”
And the words came closer still
Down the hollow in the hill,
With an agony untold.
It was some belated boy,
With a frame that shook and shivered
And the breath that caught and quivered,
Mocking our bright Christmas joy.
I in selfishness grown old
Heard that anguish beating time,
With the blast in winter rime—
“Tom's a-cold!”
“Tom's a-cold!”
Suddenly from that deep night
Drew a strange unearthly sight,
Something piteous to behold.
For a little child stept forth
Helplessly, and all a-flutter
With the frost and all an utter
Nakedness in the grim north.
Quite a baby thing, with gold
Tresses gleaming stiff and stark
From the icy wind and dark—
“Tom's a-cold!”
Suddenly from that deep night
Drew a strange unearthly sight,
Something piteous to behold.
For a little child stept forth
Helplessly, and all a-flutter
With the frost and all an utter
Nakedness in the grim north.
Quite a baby thing, with gold
Tresses gleaming stiff and stark
From the icy wind and dark—
“Tom's a-cold!”
“Tom's a-cold!”
Up he wavered with his eyes
Sad as dead eternities,
Dim from their most awful mould.
Yet a boy and very fair,
Though his teeth went chitter chatter
And each foot kept pitter patter,
In the horror of the air.
But when now within my hold,
To be warmed upon my breast,
Lo, he vanished in unrest—
“Tom's a-cold!”
Up he wavered with his eyes
Sad as dead eternities,
Dim from their most awful mould.
Yet a boy and very fair,
Though his teeth went chitter chatter
41
In the horror of the air.
But when now within my hold,
To be warmed upon my breast,
Lo, he vanished in unrest—
“Tom's a-cold!”
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