Country Sentiment

THE PICTURE BOOK.

     When I was not quite five years old
       I first saw the blue picture book,
     And Fraulein Spitzenburger told
     Stories that sent me hot and cold;
       I loathed it, yet I had to look:
       It was a German book.

     I smiled at first, for she'd begun
       With a back-garden broad and green,
     And rabbits nibbling there:  page one
     Turned; and the gardener fired his gun
       From the low hedge:  he lay unseen
       Behind:  oh, it was mean!

     They're hurt, they can't escape, and so
       He stuffs them head-down in a sack,
     Not quite dead, wriggling in a row,
     And Fraulein laughed, "Ho, ho!  Ho, ho!"
       And gave my middle a hard smack,
       I wish that I'd hit back.

     Then when I cried she laughed again;
       On the next page was a dead boy
     Murdered by robbers in a lane;
     His clothes were red with a big stain
       Of blood, he held a broken toy,
       The poor, poor little boy!

     I had to look:  there was a town
       Burning where every one got caught,
     Then a fish pulled a nigger down
     Into the lake and made him drown,
       And a man killed his friend; they fought
       For money, Fraulein thought.

     Old Fraulein laughed, a horrid noise.
       "Ho, ho!"  Then she explained it all
     How robbers kill the little boys
     And torture them and break their toys.
       Robbers are always big and tall:
       I cried:  I was so small.

     How a man often kills his wife,
       How every one dies in the end
     By fire, or water or a knife.
     If you're not careful in this life,
       Even if you can trust your friend,
       You won't have long to spend.

     I hated it—old Fraulein picked
       Her teeth, slowly explaining it.
     I had to listen, Fraulein licked
     Her fingers several times and flicked
       The pages over; in a fit
       Of rage I spat at it...

     And lying in my bed that night
       Hungry, tired out with sobs, I found
     A stretch of barren years in sight,
     Where right is wrong, but strength is right,
       Where weak things must creep underground,
       And I could not sleep sound.