Who's the little old man selling matches? And the sounds on the boxes -- who scratches? And the peering pale woman -- her flowers? -- Does she tint them and scent them for lovers? Do the scarecrows go lighting the lamps to Cause shadows to shudder, as tramps do? That slow girl -- her dress like a posie? -- If there's any to pick it now -- who's he? Those coins made of bubbles of mist -- oh, Whose were they, and the troubles that kissed so? Where's London Bridge falling again to? -- Have the tears of the Thames dug a lane? -- Who Belongs to the throat of the tune there? And the only face visible's blown -- where? Where's the little old man selling matches? Where's the light in the sky -- and who watches? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHERE MY BOOKS GO by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS REMEMBRANCE by JOHN HENRY BONER POST-MORTEM by EMILY DICKINSON THE MOWER TO THE GLOW-WORMS by ANDREW MARVELL BOY BRITTAN [FEBRUARY 8, 1862] by BYRON FORCEYTHE WILLSON KNOW THYSELF by WILLIAM ARBUTHNOT |