Pages 105-106 Transcribed
Papa's Letter
I was sitting in my study,
Writing letters when I heard,
"Please, dear mamma, Mary told me
Mamma mustn't be disturbed.
"But I've tired of de kitty,
Want some over fing to do.
Writing letters, if you, mamma?
May I wite a letter too?"
I would paint my darling's portrait, and slowly shook my head
Then I said, "I'll make a letter of darling boy, instead."
So I parted back the tresses from his forehead broad and white,
And a stamp in sport I pasted 'Mid its waves of golden light.
And I said, "Now, little letter, go away and bear good news."
And I smiled as down the staircase clattered loud the little shoes.
Leaving me, the darling hurried down to Mary in his glee,
Mama's witing lots of letters; I'se a letter, Mary - see!
No one heard the little prattler, once more he climbed the stair,
Reached his little cap and tippet, Standing on the entry there.
No one heard saw my darling baby, no one saw the golden hair,
As it floated in the breezes of the crisp October air.
Down the street the baby hastened till he reached the office door.
"I'se a letter, Mr. Postman; is there room for any more?
"'Cause dis letter's doin' to Pa, Pa lives with God, you know,
Ma sent me for a letter, Do you fink dat It can go?"
And the clerk in wonder answered,
"Not to-day, my little man."
"Den I'll find another office,
For I must go if I tan."
Fain the clerk would have detained him,
But the pleading face was gone,
And the little feet were hastening
By the busy crowd swept on.
Suddenly the crowd was parted,
People fled to left and right,
As a pair of maddened horses
At that moment came in sight.
No one saw the baby figure
No one saw his golden hair,
Till a voice of frightened sweetness
Rang out on the evening air.
Reverently they raised my darling,
Brushed away the locks of gold,
Saw the stamp upon the forehead,
Growing now so icy cold.
Not a mark the face disfigured,
Showing where a hoof had trod;
But the little life was ended
"Papa's letter" was with God.
Posts
I searched around and found a copy of the poem as orignially published in 1892, in the book- The speaker's garland and literary bouquet.
ReplyDeleteYou can read it online here - http://www.archive.org/stream/cu31924091864375#page/n249/mode/2up
As you will see there are quite a few differences between Miss Boultbee's diary and the original poem.
I found an even earlier pulishing in the Lake City, Colorado New Paper Silver World from June 23, 1877. This is a very old beautiful poem
DeleteI memorized this poem 60 years ago when my brownie scout leader told it to us. Either she learned it differently, or I memorized it differently, but this is the version I remember, as I just transcribed from memory. (Possibly the format will be ruined here)
ReplyDeletePAPA'S LETTER
I was sitting in my study,
Writing letters when I heard
"Please dear mama, Nursie told me
Mama mustn't be disturbed.
"But I's so tired of the kitty;
Want some other things to do.
Writing letters, are you mama?
Can't I wite a letter too?"
"Sorry, darling, mama's busy;
Run and play with kitty, now."
"No, no mama, I write letter;
I can, if you show me how."
I could paint my darling's portrait
As his sweet eyes searched my face.
Hair of gold, eyes of azure,
Form of childish, witching grace.
But the little face was clouded,
As I slowly shook my head,
Till I said: My darling boy,
I'll make a letter of you instead."
So I parted back the tresses
From his forehead high and white,
And a stamp in sport I pasted
'Mid its waves of golden light.
Then I said, "Now, little letter,
Run away and bear good news."
And I smiled as down the staircase
Clattered loud the little shoes.
Eagerly, my darling hurried
Down to Nursie, and with glee
Told her, "Mama's writing letters
I'm a letter Mary, see!"
No one heard the little prattler
As once more he climbed the stair
Soon to don his cap and jacket
Left upon the entry chair.
No one heard the front door open
No one saw the golden hair,
Long and shining on his shoulders
In the crisp October air.
Down the street the baby hastened
Till he reached the office door.
"I'se a letter, Mr. Postman;
Is there room for any more?
'Cause this letter's goin to papa,
Papa lives with God, you know,
Mama sent me as a letter,
Don't you think that I can go?"
But the clerk in wonder answered,
"Not today, my little man."
"Then I'll find another office,
'Cause I must go if I can."
Suddenly the crowd was parted,
People fled to left, to right,
As a pair of maddened horses
At the moment dashed in sight.
No one saw the little figure-
No one saw the golden hair,
Till his voice of frightened sweetness
Cried out in the autumn air.
'Twas too late-a moment only
Stood the beauteous vision there,
Then the little face lay lifeless
Covered by his golden hair.
Reverently they raised my darling,
Brushed away the curls of gold,
Saw the stamp upon his forehead
Growing now so icy cold.
Not a mark the face disfigured,
Showing where the hoof had trod;
But the little life had ended-
Papa's letter was with God.
-- Anonymous, Nineteenth Century
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