Under my window I hear a sound,
The scrape of a fiddle, the clatter of feet;
And a curious crowd of boys and men
Has gathered there in the street.
And in their midst is a little child,
With ragged shoes and a brimless hat,
Not bigger than Hop-O'-my-Thumb, at most,
And wan and thin at that.
I see his fingers like little claws,
His berry-brown eyes, and wistful smile,
As he plies the bow of his fiddle fast,
And tries to sing meanwhile.
And when his shrill brief song is done,
He plucks the hat from his curly head,
And begs a penny from every one,
Though not a word is said.
Just fit for a mother's arms to fold,
Yet here alone in the heat and dust,
Doing his poor, tired, baby best
To earn for himself a crust.
He looks like Teddy, for all the world;
Just such a tanned and rosy skin;
Only he lacks the apple cheeks,
The dimples, and double-chin.
And I think if Teddy were motherless,
And had to wander from place to place,
How quickly the twinkle would leave his eye,
And the dimples leave his face.
So, Teddy, open the little bank,
And give him the pennies kept for toys,
And under my window let me see
Two little nut-brown boys!