Children in the City

THOUSANDS of childish ears, rough chidden,
     Never a sweet bird-note have heard,
Deep in the leafy woodland hidden
     Dies, unlistened to, many a bird.
For small soiled hands in the sordid city

     Blossoms open and die unbreathed;
For feet unwashed by the tears of pity
     Streams around meadows of green are wreathed.

Warm, unrevelled in, still they wander,
     Summer breezes out in the fields;

Scarcely noticed, the green months squander
     All the wealth that the summer yields.
Ah, the pain of it! Ah, the pity!
     Opulent stretch the country skies
Over solitudes, while in the city

     Starving for beauty are childish eyes. [Page 59]