In a stage-coach, where late I chanced to be,
A little quiet girl my notice caught;
I saw she looked at nothing by the way,
Her mind seemed busy on some childish thought.
I with an old man's courtesy addressed
The child, and called her pretty dark-eyed maid,
And bid her turn those pretty eyes and see
The wide extended prospect. 'Sir,' she said,
'I cannot see the prospect, I am blind.'
Never did tongue of child utter a sound
So mournful, as her words fell on my ear.
Her mother then related how she found
Her child was sightless. On a fine bright day
She saw her lay her needlework aside,
And, as on such occasions mothers will,
For leaving off her work began to chide.
'I'll do it when 'tis daylight, if you please,
I cannot work, mamma, now it is night.'
The sun shone bright upon her when she spoke,
And yet her eyes received no ray of light.
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Comments about this poem (Blindness by Charles Lamb )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(03 April 1964)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
((13 March 1941 – 9 August 2008)
(3 March 1878 - 9 April 1917)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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