DAYS of the whirling snowflakes, nights of the weeping wind, That move to a gloomy future, that come from the dark behind, Carry upon their bosoms the sorrows of hope defiled — The wail of the bootless bairn, the cry of the hapless child. Not for him is the Christmas and all the sweets it brings, Nor does he share the New Year's hope of bright and beautiful things, Ah, never for him is the festal board with Nature's bounties piled, The wan-eyed bootless bairn — the poor, uncared-for child. Oh! why do we prate of our glory and lightning lettered fame, When the winds of the city roadways are breathing our people's shame? And ev'ry castle builded is a hundred homes despoiled — Our fame leaves the bairn bootless, our glory the hapless child. Then it is ours to labour and help with the passing suns, To brighten with word and action the lot of the little ones, For the sins of our age hang heavy on defiler and defiled, They fall on the bootless bairn, and crush the hapless child. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNMANIFEST DESTINY by RICHARD HOVEY TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE FIRST DAY: PAUL REVERE'S RIDE [APRIL 1775] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT; GEORGE III AND A DYING WOMAN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ROBERT SOUTHEY SONNET PREFIXED TO 'THE COMMONWEALTH & GOVERNMENT OF VENICE' by EDMUND SPENSER HYMN TO HORUS by MATHILDE BLIND ELEGY ON A LADY, WHOM GRIEF FOR THE DEATH OF HER BETHROTHED KILLED by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. SUNDAY MORNING NEAR A MANUFACTURING TOWN by EDWARD CARPENTER TO MOTHER FAIRIE by ALICE CARY THE BOTHIE OF TOBER-NA-VUOLICH; A LONG VACATION PASTORAL by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH |