From the Harrisburgh Telegraph, February 27, 1914. Translated by H. W. Ettelson, from the Yiddish of Morris Rosenfeld.
I have a boy, a little boy,
He is a youngster fine!
Whenever I catch sight of him,
I think the world is mine!
But of him, precious one, awake,
I’ve seldom, seldom sight.
Most times I find him fast asleep,
Just see him in the night.
The workshop calls me early out,
And late I leave the place;
Ah, strange to me my flesh and blood,
Ah, strange my own child’s face.
I come through pall of darkness home,
Fagged out and in a daze.
And my pale wife to cheer me, tells
Of baby’s cunning ways.
How sweet he talks, how cute he begs;
“Please mamma, tell me, do,
When is dear daddy going to come
And bring me a penny, too.”
And hearing this, I dart away,
For so it needs must be.
The father-love flames passionate;
“My child must, shall see me.”
I stand beside his tiny crib,
I see and ah, I hear,
The little lips ask in a dream:
“Where is my daddy dear?”
I kiss his eyelids tenderly
They open wide—sweet sight!
They see me now, they see me now,
But soon again shut tight!
“Here’s father now, my one, my own.
A penny for you, there!”
The little lips ask in a dream:
“O where is Papa, where?”
I stand there stricken, deep-distressed,
And speak in accents sore;
“Sometime you’ll wake my child, alas,
And find me here no more!”