I cannot eat my porridge, <br /> I weary of my play; <br />No longer can I sleep at night, <br /> No longer romp by day! <br />Though forty pounds was once my weight, <br /> I'm shy of thirty now; <br />I pine, I wither and I fade <br /> Through love of Martha Clow. <br /> <br />As she rolled by this morning <br /> I heard the nurse girl say: <br />"She weighs just twenty-seven pounds <br /> And she's one year old to-day." <br />I threw a kiss that nestled <br /> In the curls upon her brow, <br />But she never turned to thank me-- <br /> That bouncing Martha Clow! <br /> <br />She ought to know I love her, <br /> For I've told her that I do; <br />And I've brought her nuts and apples, <br /> And sometimes candy, too! <br />I'd drag her in my little cart <br /> If her mother would allow <br />That delicate attention <br /> To her daughter, Martha Clow. <br /> <br />O Martha! pretty Martha! <br /> Will you always be so cold? <br />Will you always be as cruel <br /> As you are at one-year-old? <br />Must your two-year-old admirer <br /> Pine as hopelessly as now <br />For a fond reciprocation <br /> Of his love for Martha Clow? <br /> <br />You smile on Bernard Rogers <br /> And on little Harry Knott; <br />You play with them at peek-a-boo <br /> All in the Waller Lot! <br />Wildly I gnash my new-cut teeth <br /> And beat my throbbing brow, <br />When I behold the coquetry <br /> Of heartless Martha Clow! <br /> <br />I cannot eat my porridge, <br /> Nor for my play care I; <br />Upon the floor and porch and lawn <br /> My toys neglected lie; <br />But on the air of Halsted street <br /> I breathe this solemn vow: <br />"Though she be false, I will be true <br /> To pretty Martha Clow!"<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-piteous-plaint/
