 | Ballads and Lyrics of Socialism: 1883-1908 |  |
To His Daughter
I bought you flowers on Ludgate Hill,
Dear violets in December,
And all the way to Charing Cross
They whispered of the rain-wet moss,
The budding briars, the April days,
The pageant of the woodland ways,
And all the pleasant plots and plays
That you and I remember.
Dear violets in December,
And all the way to Charing Cross
They whispered of the rain-wet moss,
The budding briars, the April days,
The pageant of the woodland ways,
And all the pleasant plots and plays
That you and I remember.
71
I met you on the platform chill
Where winter winds were snarling;
Your smile that lit that gloomy place
Lit up for me that other face
Of her who sold the violets—mean,
Poor, broken, desolate, unclean:
A ruined slave, who might have been
A Queen like you, my darling.
Where winter winds were snarling;
Your smile that lit that gloomy place
Lit up for me that other face
Of her who sold the violets—mean,
Poor, broken, desolate, unclean:
A ruined slave, who might have been
A Queen like you, my darling.
| Ballads and Lyrics of Socialism: 1883-1908 | |