There are occasions when you come across some lovely pieces of poetry when you study folklore and customs. The following is a poem I picked up a few weeks ago and thought it was so nice that I should share it with you. As for the author, all I know is that it is by a 19th Century Poet/Poetess. Please enjoy…
The day had gone as fades a dream;
The night had come, and rain fell fast;
While o’er the black and sluggish stream
Cold blew the wailing blast.
In pensive mood I idly raised
The curtain from the rain-splashed glass,
And as into the street I gazed,
I saw two women pass.
One shivering with the bitter cold,
Her garments heavy with the rain,
Limped by with features wan and old,
Deep farrowed by sharp pain.
A child in form, a child in years;
But from her piteous pallid face,
The weariness of life with tears
Had washed all childlike grace.
And as she passed me faint and weak,
I heard her slowly say, as though
With throbbing heart about to break:
‘”Move on!” Where shall I go?’
The other, who on furs reclined,
In brougham was driven to the play;
No thought within her vacant mind
Of those in rags that day:
With unmoved heart and idle stare,
Passed by the beggar in the street,
Who lifted up her hands in prayer,
Some charity to meet.
Both vanished in the murky night:
The outcast on a step to die;
The lady to a scene of light,
Where Joy alone did sigh.
But angels saw amid her hair
What was by human eyes unseen;
The grass that grows on graves was there,
With leaves of ghastly green.
And though her diamonds flashed the light
Upon the flatterers gathered near,
The outcast’s brow had gem more bright –
An angel’s pitying tear.
An Unknown 19th Century Irish Poet
Ireland's Lore and Tales 