Her day out from the workhouse-ward, she stands, A grey-haired woman, decent and precise, With prim black bonnet and neat paisley shawl, Among the other children by the stall; And with grave relish eats a penny ice. To wizened toothless gums, with quaking hands She holds it, shuddering with delicious cold; Nor heeds the jeering laughter of young men -- The happiest, in her innocence, of all: For, while their insolent youth must soon grow old, She, who's been old, is now a child again. |