Classic Poem

Mine the tear, and mine the sigh;
Mine the dim and watery eye;
Mine the cheek with hunger pale,
The torn garb streaming in the gale;
The aching head, the heavy heart,
The woes that grief and want impart;
Unlov'd, unpitied, here I roam,
Without a friend, without a home.
Gentlefolks, pray pity me,
The little child of misery!

When winter winds blow sharp and cold,
In vain my cloak I round me fold;
My cloak is thin, the wind so keen
And bitter, pierces me within.
And when the dark and gloomy night
Descends around, in wild affright,
I seek some hedge's briery fence,
And trust to it for my defence;
Or in some shed for shelter creep,
And lie me down — but not to sleep —
Ah no! I only weep and pray,
Or anxious watch for coming day:
Then, gentlefolks, pray pity me,
The little child of misery!

Mine the tear, and mine the sigh;
Mine the dim and watery eye;
Mine the cheek with hunger pale,
The torn garb streaming in the gale;
The aching head, the heavy heart,
The woes that grief and want impart;
Unlov'd, unpitied, here I roam,
Without a friend, without a home.
Gentlefolks, pray pity me,
The little child of misery!

When winter winds blow sharp and cold,
In vain my cloak I round me fold;
My cloak is thin, the wind so keen
And bitter, pierces me within.
And when the dark and gloomy night
Descends around, in wild affright,
I seek some hedge's briery fence,
And trust to it for my defence;
Or in some shed for shelter creep,
And lie me down — but not to sleep —
Ah no! I only weep and pray,
Or anxious watch for coming day:
Then, gentlefolks, pray pity me,
The little child of misery!