1873: “The Newsboy”, by E.P. B, published in The Milwaukee Monthly Magazine.
The unidentified E. P. B. narrates a story of a “gamin” who peddles newspapers and daisies.
To Miss Hattie R. H—, these lines are most respectfully inscribed, as a token of the author’s regard.
’Neath the cool shady porch, secured from the
scorch,
Of the hot sun’s meridian blazes,
I sit idly dreaming, and watch without seeming,
The newsboy hawking papers and daisies.
Hung safe to a strap, that is slung o’er his back,
His rude box, brush and blacking displayed is;
While under his arm, he shields from all harm,
His papers and beautiful daisies.
Want gleams from his eyes, as with a faint voice he
cries,
“’Eres the ’Sconsin or Sent’nel,” and gazes
Into the careless face, of the in-human race,
Or plaintively sings, “Buy my daisies.”
Not within plenty’s horn, was this wee gamin
born,
Or knows aught but misery’s phases.
By an old oak’s dim shade, his first bed was made,
In the grass, ’mid the sweet smelling daisies.
On weary and lorn, thro’ the heat, cold or storm,
While gaunt hunger his dimming eye glazes,
At last down he lies, his wan face to the skies,
And a pillow of papers and daisies.
Says the “cop” on his beat, thro’ the tremulous
street,
“’Eres a corpus as surely as blazes,”
Then away to the morgue, as you’d trundle a dog;”
But his thin hand still clasps the wild daisies.
And on the next morning, without further warn-
ing,
“The bag of bones,” packed on a dray is
To the cemet’ry’s shade, and carelessly laid
’Neath the sod, gaily billowed with daisies.
So “under” he goes, but freed from life’s woes,
He dreams in ethereal mazes;
The wee little toes, and pinched tip of his nose,
Pointing up to the roots of the daisies.