Morris Rosenfeld Poems
- My Boy I have a little boy at home, A pretty little son; I ...
- In The Factory Oh, here in the shop the machines roar so ...
- Liberty When night and silence deep Hold all the world in ...
- On The Bosom Of The Ocean THE terrible wind, the dangerous ...
- I Know Not Why I lift mine eyes against the sky, The clouds...
- I'Ve Often Laughed I've often laughed and oftener still have ...
- A Tree In The Ghetto There stands in th' leafless Ghetto One...
Morris Rosenfeld (Moshe Jacob Alter) (December 28, 1862 in Bokscha in Russian Poland, government of Suwałki – June 22, 1923 in New York) was a Yiddish poet.
His work sheds light on the living circumstances of emigrants from Eastern Europe in New York's tailoring workshops.
He was educated at Boksha, Suwałki, and Warsaw. He worked as a tailor in New York and London and as a diamond cutter in Amsterdam, and settled in New York in 1886, after which he was connected with the editorial staffs of several leading Jewish newspapers. In 1904 he published a weekly entitled Der Ashmedai. In 1905 he was editor of the New Yorker Morgenblatt. He was also the publisher and ... more »
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Comments about Morris Rosenfeld
I have a little boy at home,
A pretty little son;
I think sometimes the world is mine
In him, my only one.
But seldom, seldom do I see
My child in heaven's light;
I find him always fast asleep...
I see him but at night.
Ere dawn my labor drives me forth;
'Tis night when I am free;
A stranger am I to my child;
And strange my child to me.
I come in darkness to my home,
With weariness and--pay;
My pallid wife, she waits to tell
The things he learned to say.
How plain and prettily he asked:
'Dear mamma, when's 'Tonight'?
O when ...