<h2><SPAN name="chap20"></SPAN>IN THE TROLLEY CAR</h2>
<p class="poem">
The swart Italian in the trolley car,<br/>
Hoarded his children in his arms and breast;<br/>
The mother, all unheeding, sat afar,<br/>
Her splendid eyes were vague, her lips compressed.<br/>
<br/>
One Raphael-boy slipped from his father’s knee,<br/>
Climbed to her side, and gently stroked her cheek,<br/>
She turned away, and would not hear his plea,<br/>
She turned away, and would not even speak.<br/>
<br/>
With trembling lips the child crept back again<br/>
To the warm shelter of his father’s breast;<br/>
We looked indignant pity, for till then<br/>
We thought that mother-love bore every test.<br/>
<br/>
We rose to go, the father-mother said,<br/>
In deep, low tones, “Don’t t’inka hard you bet<br/>
The younges’ was too-seeck, and he is dead,<br/>
She will be alla right, when she forget.”<br/>
<br/>
When she forgets! “Great-Heart,” hold closer yet<br/>
Thy precious brood and let it feel no lack!<br/>
Until her soul shall wake, but not forget,<br/>
When the warm tides of love come surging back.<br/></p>
<p class="left">
RUTH BALDWIN CHENERY</p>
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