Here you will find the Poem Little Paul of poet Louisa May Alcott
CHEERFUL voices by the sea-side Echoed through the summer air, Happy children, fresh and rosy, Sang and sported freely there, Often turning friendly glances, Where, neglectful of them all, On his bed among the gray rocks, Mused the pale child, little Paul. For he never joined their pastimes, Never danced upon the sand, Only smiled upon them kindly, Only waved his wasted hand. Many a treasured gift they bore him, Best beloved among them all. Many a childish heart grieved sadly, Thinking of poor little Paul. But while Florence was beside him, While her face above him bent, While her dear voice sounded near him, He was happy and content; Watching ever the great billows, Listening to their ceaseless fall, For they brought a pleasant music To the ear of little Paul. 'Sister Floy,' the pale child whispered, 'What is that the blue waves say? What strange message are they bringing From that shore so far away? Who is dwelling in that country Whence a low voice seems to call Softly, through the dash of waters, 'Come away, my little Paul'?' But sad Florence could not answer, Though her dim eyes tenderly Watched the wistful face, that ever Gazed across the restless sea, While the sunshine like a blessing On his bright hair seemed to fall, And the winds grew more caressing, As they kissed frail little Paul. Ere long, paler and more wasted, On another bed he lay, Where the city's din and discord Echoed round him day by day; While the voice that to his spirit By the sea-side seemed to call, Sounded with its tender music Very near to little Paul. As the deep tones of the ocean Linger in the frailest shell, So the lonely sea-side musings In his memory seemed to dwell. And he talked of golden waters Rippling on his chamber wall, While their melody in fancy Cheered the heart of little Paul. Clinging fast to faithful Florence, Murmuring faintly night and day, Of the swift and darksome river Bearing him so far away, Toward a shore whose blessed sunshine Seemed most radiantly to fall On a beautiful mild spirit, Waiting there for little Paul. So the tide of life ebbed slowly, Till the last wave died away, And nothing but the fragile wreck On the sister's bosom lay. And from out death's solemn waters, Lifted high above them all, In her arms the spirit mother Bore the soul of little Paul.