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Eugene Field - A Piteous Plaint
Work rating: Low

I cannot eat my porridge,
  I weary of my play;
No longer can I sleep at night,
  No longer romp by day!
Though forty pounds was once my weight,
  I`m shy of thirty now;
I pine, I wither and I fade
  Through love of Martha Clow.

As she rolled by this morning
  I heard the nurse girl say:
"She weighs just twenty-seven pounds
  And she`s one year old to-day."
I threw a kiss that nestled
  In the curls upon her brow,
But she never turned to thank me—
  That bouncing Martha Clow!

She ought to know I love her,
  For I`ve told her that I do;
And I`ve brought her nuts and apples,
  And sometimes candy, too!
I`d drag her in my little cart
  If her mother would allow
That delicate attention
  To her daughter, Martha Clow.

O Martha! pretty Martha!
  Will you always be so cold?
Will you always be as cruel
  As you are at one-year-old?
Must your two-year-old admirer
  Pine as hopelessly as now
For a fond reciprocation
  Of his love for Martha Clow?

You smile on Bernard Rogers
  And on little Harry Knott;
You play with them at peek-a-boo
  All in the Waller Lot!
Wildly I gnash my new-cut teeth
  And beat my throbbing brow,
When I behold the coquetry
  Of heartless Martha Clow!

I cannot eat my porridge,
  Nor for my play care I;
Upon the floor and porch and lawn
  My toys neglected lie;
But on the air of Halsted street
  I breathe this solemn vow:
"Though she be false, I will be true
  To pretty Martha Clow!"
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