Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis (7 September 1876 - 22 June 1938 / Auburn, South Australia)
A Blind Man in the Street
'He's blind,' we say. Then turn aside
Upon our way, again to view
Familiar things - some prospect wide,
Some olden scene for ever new.
Heedless we pass along, and soon
The groping figure's out of mind,
Lost in the sunlit afternoon.
'Poor chap, he's blind.'
Slowly he taps along the street,
Pitch black beneath our smiling skies:
While ours the boon again to greet
New scenes with ever thoughtless eyes.
Thoughtless indeed if, passing, we
Grudge thanks for this most precious sense.
He asks of us - not sympathy
Comments about this poem (A Blind Man in the Street by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley