A Boy Of The Ghetto

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HE goes out with his Dreams
  Through the dingy city square,
Purple- and silver-winged
  They go with him everywhere.

The quarreling hags at the windows
  Have voices unkind, unsweet,
But his Dreams have silver voices
  And starrily-slippered feet;

The workmen push on the pavement
  And laugh and curse as they go,
But he is far with his Dreams
  On a road they do not know;

He walks far off with the Dreams
  That whisper and sing beside
And his face is glad and still
  And his eyes are burning-wide;

He goes out with his Dreams
  Through a golden wonder-place
With the light of God in his eyes
  And the peace of God in his face.

© Margaret Widdemer