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Poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
When first you came to London Town, Donneen, Just five years old, I said—'He'll ask for marble halls, and streets All paved with gold!' I thought—'He'll weep, so stricken with amaze, To hear the roar Of trampling hoofs, of rushing feet that go Our way before.' I said—'He'll fear the throbbing engine's shriek, The shaking path, The pushing crowd, the city's comrade cries Of joy, of wrath.' And when we stood to hear the mighty heart Of London Town, I saw your angry cheek and knew a tear Had threatened down. 'Why weep,' I whispered by your red gold head, 'Dearest of boys?' 'I cannot hear my new shoes creak,' you said, 'There is such noise.' Oh, creak, dear shoes, above the city's roar; Be heard, be seen, So hearts grow glad, hands clap, and voices cry, 'Here comes Donneen!'
Dora Sigerson Shorter
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