Johnny Christina Rossetti

Johnny had a golden head
        Like a golden mop in blow,
Right and left his curls would spread
        In a glory and a glow,
And they framed his honest face
Like stray sunbeams out of place.

Long and thick, they half could hide
        How threadbare his patched jacket hung;
They used to be his Mother's pride;
        She praised them with a tender tongue,
And stroked them with a loving finger
That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger.

On a doorstep Johnny sat,
        Up and down the street looked he;
Johnny did not own a hat,
        Hot or cold tho' days might be;
Johnny did not own a boot
To cover up his muddy foot.

Johnny's face was pale and thin,
        Pale with hunger and with crying;
For his Mother lay within,
        Talked and tossed and seemed a-dying,
While Johnny racked his brains to think
How to get her help and drink,