SHE sits by the side of a turbulent stream That rushes and rolls forever Up and down like a weary dream In the trance of a burning fever. Up and down through the long Broadway It flows with its tiresome paces -- Down and up through the noisy day, A river of feet and of faces. Seldom a drop of that river's spray Touches her withered features; Yet still she sits there day by day In the throng of her fellow-creatures. Apples and cakes and candy to sell, Daily before her lying. The ragged newsboys know her well -- The rich never think of buying. Year in, year out, in her dingy shawl The wind and the rain she weathers, Patient and mute at her little stall; But few are the coppers she gathers. Still eddies the crowd intent on gain. Each for himself is striving With selfish heart and seething brain -- An endless hurry and driving. The loud carts rattle in thunder and dust; Gay Fashion sweeps by in its coaches. With a vacant stare she mumbles her crust, She is past complaints and reproaches. Still new faces and still new feet -- The same yet changing forever; They jostle along through the weary street, The waves of the human river. Withered and dry like a leafless bush That clings to the bank of a torrent, Year in, year out, in the whirl and the rush, She sits, of the city's current. The shrubs of the garden will blossom again Though far from the flowing river; But the spring returns to her in vain -- Its bloom has nothing to give her. Yet in her heart there buds the hope Of a Father's love and pity; For her the clouded skies shall ope, And the gates of a heavenly city. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WALKING MAN OF RODIN by CARL SANDBURG THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE; OR, THE EMIGRANT'S ADIEU TO HIS BIRTHPLACE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM YOUTH AND ART by ROBERT BROWNING WAR DEAD by PATRICK JOHN MCALISTER ANDERSON |