Sleepy Corner Poem by Samuel Alfred Beadle

Sam, the Garbager, had carpet,
And some scraps of office jot,
Optomacy stooped to throw him,
As he passed from lot to lot,
And with these he decked his cabin
In a rather modern style;
But himself remained old-fashioned
Like - simple and true the while.


And the milk of human kindness
Seemed to bubble from his heart,
As he rolled about the city
In his two-wheeled garbage cart.
He could tell about the weather
From the corns upon his feet,
And he said, 'De kind dat rests yer
Is de drizzle, rain or sleet.'


Dhar am sometin in de wedder,
Dat yer can't jist al'ays splain,
When the clouds am runnin' rivers
In de drizzlin' of de rain;
Ween de win' am jist ez quiet,
Ez de las' yer's mouldin' leaves
Wid nothin' breaking silence
'Cep'en murmurs on your eves.


Wid de night ez dark ez Hades,
An' er tinyus po'in rain,
Er ripplin' into murmurs
Off yer windo' sill an' pane,
Dhar am som'thin' in de weder
Lak er op'ate so it seems
Dat brings yer deeper slumber,
Dat wakes yer lighter dreams.


In dear ol' sleepy corner,
Whar 'lax'tion grows and grows,
Tell yer nap and nod ter music,
Dat's er lullin' yer to 'pose.
An' de study ripplin' measure
Dat am tumblin' off yer eves.
Seems er lullaby of angels,
Forcin' worries all ter leave.


Den yer soul all ober joyed
Wid de dreams de driz'le weaves;
Kinder feels dat et am courted
By de nymps of reveries;
An' yer mouth er fallin' open,
Hangs yer chin erpun yer chest,
While yer soul goes 'splorin' dream lan'
Ez de driz'le lulls ter rest.