 | English Roses |  |
SHOEBLACK BOY.
Brown as a berry,
Mischievous, brave,
Fond of a racket, foolishly merry,
Every one's torment and every one's slave;
This is the boy,
Never found lacking!
Winter will raven and tempest will rave,
He is at home and the wild weather's joy;
Skies may be cracking
Thunder, and gloom cast a shadow of doom,
He thinks of work and makes trouble a toy—
Blossom of blacking.
Mischievous, brave,
Fond of a racket, foolishly merry,
Every one's torment and every one's slave;
This is the boy,
Never found lacking!
Winter will raven and tempest will rave,
He is at home and the wild weather's joy;
Skies may be cracking
Thunder, and gloom cast a shadow of doom,
578
Blossom of blacking.
Cream of the gutter,
Rollicking, ripe
Now for your penny, to give him the butter
Strange to his bread, or a casual pipe;
Look at the imp
Heedless of whacking,
Good (if you pay him) for many a stripe
Or the abuse which you need never skimp!
Trade, be it slacking,
Does but impel his bold heart to rebel;
He will refuse to be sullen or limp,—
Blossom of blacking.
Rollicking, ripe
Now for your penny, to give him the butter
Strange to his bread, or a casual pipe;
Look at the imp
Heedless of whacking,
Good (if you pay him) for many a stripe
Or the abuse which you need never skimp!
Trade, be it slacking,
Does but impel his bold heart to rebel;
He will refuse to be sullen or limp,—
Blossom of blacking.
Grudge not the copper,
All he will ask,
If on his crown is not clapt your fine topper
Nor on his face that hypocrisy mask;
He is real grit,
Wrought by the racking
Cold and the heat, that delay not his task
Such as Society would not deem fit.
O he has backing
Stouter than steel from the head to the heel,
Spiced with a saucy and masterful wit—
Blossom of blacking.
All he will ask,
If on his crown is not clapt your fine topper
Nor on his face that hypocrisy mask;
He is real grit,
Wrought by the racking
Cold and the heat, that delay not his task
Such as Society would not deem fit.
O he has backing
Stouter than steel from the head to the heel,
Spiced with a saucy and masterful wit—
Blossom of blacking.
Now in the sunlight,
Now in the shade
Mixed with the wild flower things that would shun light,
Born in the darkness and bred but to fade;
Here he stands up,
When you are packing
Off from the blizzard that cuts like a blade,
Equal to any Queen's coin or a cup;
There he goes tacking,
Shoebrush and all, at a customer's call,
Glad to get something whereof he may sup—
Blossom of blacking.
Now in the shade
Mixed with the wild flower things that would shun light,
Born in the darkness and bred but to fade;
Here he stands up,
When you are packing
Off from the blizzard that cuts like a blade,
Equal to any Queen's coin or a cup;
There he goes tacking,
Shoebrush and all, at a customer's call,
579
Blossom of blacking.
| English Roses | |