Here in this dim, dull, double-bedded room, <br />I play the father to a brace of boys, <br />Ailing but apt for every sort of noise, <br />Bedfast but brilliant yet with health and bloom. <br />Roden, the Irishman, is 'sieven past,' <br />Blue-eyed, snub-nosed, chubby, and fair of face. <br />Willie's but six, and seems to like the place, <br />A cheerful little collier to the last. <br />They eat, and laugh, and sing, and fight, all day; <br />All night they sleep like dormice. See them play <br />At Operations:- Roden, the Professor, <br />Saws, lectures, takes the artery up, and ties; <br />Willie, self-chloroformed, with half-shut eyes, <br />Holding the limb and moaning-Case and Dresser.<br /><br />William Ernest Henley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/children-private-ward/
