IN WASHINGTON
IN WASHINGTON.
HE burning sunbeams on the pavement beat, There is no pity in the brazen skies;
The air along the street quivers with scorching heat,
And its hot dazzle blinds the aching eyes.
In these long days, with dust and turmoil rife,
The sultry distance of the Avenne
Seems like some dreary life, full of unrest and strife,
Where there comes never either bloom or dew.
The sultry distance of the Avenne
Seems like some dreary life, full of unrest and strife,
Where there comes never either bloom or dew.
She sits there in the sunshine all the day,
Almost beneath the passers' hurrying feet,—
A Woman, old and gray, beside the crowded way,
Blinded and choked with dust, and faint with heat.
Almost beneath the passers' hurrying feet,—
A Woman, old and gray, beside the crowded way,
Blinded and choked with dust, and faint with heat.
A few poor matches in her basket lie,
Half hidden by her tattered garment's fold;
Half hidden by her tattered garment's fold;
