"CLEAN YOUR DOOR-STEP, MARM?"
The shades of night were some time past,
And snow had fallen thick and fast;
A youth, who broom and shovel bore,
Was heard to call outside the door,
"Clean your doorstep, Marm?"
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright,
The singing kettle brightly shone—
Again, again, his well-known tone—
"Clean your doorstep, Marm?"
His brow was sad—his chilly nose,
Like fiery coals, glow'd in the snows,
And, as the kitchen bell he rang,
In accents clear he loudly sang,
"Clean your doorstep, Marm?"
"Oh, stay," the girl said, "while I see,
As I takes up the toast and tea;
And if your charge is not too high"—
"A tanner's all," the poor boy's cry,
"To clean your doorstep, Marm?"
He set to work with all his might,
But suddenly went out of sight;—
Half-buried in the coals was found
The youth who sang that piteous sound,
"Clean your doorstep, Marm?"
Some rascal in the night had twigged,
The coal-iron loose, which he had prigged,
"If I'd a know'd a hole was there,
I would o' coorse ha' took more care
Cleaning your doorstep, Marm?"