'Ah, little boy! I see You have a wooden spade. Into this sand you dig So deep -- for what?' I said. 'There's more rich gold,' said he, 'Down under where I stand, Than twenty elephants Could move across the land.' 'Ah, little girl with wool! -- What are you making now?' 'Some stockings for a bird, To keep his legs from snow.' And there those children are, So happy, small, and proud: The boy that digs his grave, The girl that knits her shroud. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHERE MY BOOKS GO by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE SOUND OF THE TREES by ROBERT FROST SEVEN TIMES FOUR [ - MATERNITY] by JEAN INGELOW ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 18. A PORTRAIT by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) H. SACRAMENT by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE BANKRUPT by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE THIRD FYTTE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |