 | English Roses |  |
STREET BOY.
English boy,Let me picture as I see you
Sturdy, square and impudent;
Dandled not the silken toy
Of a mother, who would free you
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And the splendid dirt and splutter,
Which will shake us
Yet and make us
Kings of sea and continent.
Ragged, soiled and rude, and heeding
Little what the weather says
Or the solemn parson prays;
Sometimes bleeding
From the rough-and-tumble strife,
Still your loftiest dream of life;
Always fit
Now for mischief and the danger
Unto which you are no stranger,
Full of cussedness and grit.
Yet we really prize and love you,
Though the language that we hear
Sounds surprising,
And no foreign imp above you
Ever scored by early rising,
Or possessed such follies dear;
Though you are a doubtful joy,
English boy.
| English Roses | |