by Mary Gilmore (1865-1962)
There came an old man down the
And, O, he whistled fine,
He brought a tune from out the wind –
A wind as cold as brine;
He took the pain from out the world,
And saved this heart of mine.
And down the stairway by my door,
Two days ago I heard
A whistling boy come hopping by
As if he were a bird;
I felt as though I were a leaf
A happy air had stirred.
God gave the whistling mouth to man
That he old griefs might drive
Back to the dens from which they came.
And keep his soul alive.
A whistling man makes life as sweet
As honey in a hive.
About the Author
See our page on Mary Gilmore. Includes a linked list of all her writing available on our website.
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