Classic Poem

O send me some soul from the city street
To plant in my garden fair,
Some poor little wight with his weary feet,
His rags and his touselled hair.

I will plant his roots in the moist sweet earth,
I'll bathe him in soft sunshine,
I'll water his leaves with innocent mirth
Out here in this close of mine.

I'll give him the air of the countryside,
The health of the piney hills;
The rapturous sweets of the eventide,
The songs of the birds and rills.

And he'll blossom forth like a lovely rose,
In beauty, and thought, and deed,
Not lost in the city's dark whirl of woes,
A sad little human weed!