In a stage-coach, where late I chanced to be, <br />A little quiet girl my notice caught; <br />I saw she looked at nothing by the way, <br />Her mind seemed busy on some childish thought. <br /> <br /> <br />I with an old man's courtesy addressed <br />The child, and called her pretty dark-eyed maid, <br />And bid her turn those pretty eyes and see <br />The wide extended prospect. 'Sir,' she said, <br /> <br /> <br />'I cannot see the prospect, I am blind.' <br />Never did tongue of child utter a sound <br />So mournful, as her words fell on my ear. <br />Her mother then related how she found <br /> <br /> <br />Her child was sightless. On a fine bright day <br />She saw her lay her needlework aside, <br />And, as on such occasions mothers will, <br />For leaving off her work began to chide. <br /> <br /> <br />'I'll do it when 'tis daylight, if you please, <br />I cannot work, mamma, now it is night.' <br />The sun shone bright upon her when she spoke, <br />And yet her eyes received no ray of light.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blindness-17/
