Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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DUMB TOM. |
 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
468
DUMB TOM.
Tom is dumb, Tom is dumb,
And his poor little mouth
May be pinched by the winter or tortured with drouth,
And his body grow numb—
But O what does it matter
To others about him, who grumble and chatter?
Tom is tiny, you see,
And with weakness he trembles
And dreadful suspicion he never dissembles—
He looks always ready to tumble or flee;
He is common and mean,
And forlorn and unclean.
And his poor little mouth
May be pinched by the winter or tortured with drouth,
And his body grow numb—
But O what does it matter
To others about him, who grumble and chatter?
Tom is tiny, you see,
And with weakness he trembles
And dreadful suspicion he never dissembles—
He looks always ready to tumble or flee;
He is common and mean,
And forlorn and unclean.
Tom is dumb, Tom is dumb
And his desolate eyes
That refuse to meet yours have a savage surprise;
And the dirty brown thumb,
Which he bites in sheer famine,
Would show bitter marks if you stopt to examine;
Tom is helpless and lost,
A wan fugitive hunted
By all, and grows downward more wretched and stunted,
In sweltering heat and the fangs of the frost;
And his brow seems the stage
Not of childhood, but age.
And his desolate eyes
That refuse to meet yours have a savage surprise;
And the dirty brown thumb,
Which he bites in sheer famine,
Would show bitter marks if you stopt to examine;
Tom is helpless and lost,
A wan fugitive hunted
By all, and grows downward more wretched and stunted,
In sweltering heat and the fangs of the frost;
And his brow seems the stage
Not of childhood, but age.
Tom is dumb, Tom is dumb,
And the veriest child,
Though his lips seem as if they could never have smil'd;
And he owns not a chum
In that infinite City,
If sometimes a dog may bestow on him pity.
Tom goes silent, a thief,
For his fingers are clever,
And passes from darkness to darkness for ever
Untaught and unknown with the gnawing of grief;
But he's human, that blight
Only asks for more light.
And the veriest child,
Though his lips seem as if they could never have smil'd;
And he owns not a chum
In that infinite City,
If sometimes a dog may bestow on him pity.
Tom goes silent, a thief,
For his fingers are clever,
And passes from darkness to darkness for ever
Untaught and unknown with the gnawing of grief;
But he's human, that blight
Only asks for more light.
469
Tom is dumb, Tom is dumb,
And yet clearer his voice
Tells to those who may hearken he had not a choice;
It beseeches a crumb
Of that prodigal kindness,
Which beams upon all except him in his blindness.
Tom would keep within bounds,
And look bright with young beauty—
If properly washed and just trained to know duty,
Fed, clothed—and no more make those horrible sounds.
In that volume though sealed,
Our offence is revealed.
And yet clearer his voice
Tells to those who may hearken he had not a choice;
It beseeches a crumb
Of that prodigal kindness,
Which beams upon all except him in his blindness.
Tom would keep within bounds,
And look bright with young beauty—
If properly washed and just trained to know duty,
Fed, clothed—and no more make those horrible sounds.
In that volume though sealed,
Our offence is revealed.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |