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Rating: 2.1

I gladly would sing in a joyous strain,
But my heart of its joy is bereft;
For my young life there is nought but grief and pain,
And a haunting memory left.
Look at the stars how they gleam from the skies
On me with a frosty stare;
Can it be that this world hath no pitying eyes
For the houseless child of care?
Ye that look on me have homes tonight,
And loving ones wait you there;

And the cheerful fire is burning bright,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Stephen Arnold 22 July 2014

Actually a song, written in a garret, with the aim of raising money to ward off starvation on the streets. cite: chapter 2 of his autobiography.

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