THE BOY ON THE GATE

 

THE BOY ON THE GATE.- A POEM

by JOHN ORTON 

THE rosy-cheeked urchin that swings on the gate
Is a right merry monarch in all but estate; 

But treasure brings trouble -what title is free? 

Thus better without one, thus happy is he; 

For the ring of his laugh is a mirth-moving strain, 

Which a choir of young creatures respond to again, 

The birds are all singing, each heart is elate 

With the rosy-cheeked urchin that hangs on the gate. 

The rosy-cheeked urchin that swings on the gate 

Hath Nature's own pages upon him to wait; 

His joyous companions- a cherubim crew, 

With posies of daisies and buttercups too.

 He boasts not of jewels on forehead or breast, 

But his heart is all gladness- his mind is at rest. 

Ah! what are the honours, the glories of state, 

To the rosy-cheeked urchin that hangs on the gate?

The rosy-cheeked urchin that swings on the gate 

Waves proudly on high his satchel and slate; 

The sky is all brightness, the fields are all gay, 

Green branches are waving, the lambs are at play;

And where is the bosom that pines not to be 

Thus bathed in the sunlight as happy as he? 

For the heart's purest pleasures we find when too late, 

And sigh to be swinging again on a gate. 

JOHN ORTON 

References:

Chatterbox 1877