The scene is poor, and hunger is a grim, bony presence directing the children to the workhouse on the hill. Even so, the little children linger on the way, gathering flowers for the speaker's sunny windowsill. The speaker clearly knows and loves them; he takes their faces in his hands and gives them a smile, and they smile back before running off. But his affection is mixed with something sadder. He wishes he could take their places in the murky lanes where the sun's blessing hardly reaches — perhaps to spare them from that darkness, perhaps because he longs for their untroubled energy. As they go, their laughter and singing drift back to him and fill the windy day with gladness, youth, and May. The mood is tender and bittersweet: poverty shadows the children's world, yet their joy and simple kindness keep breaking through, and the speaker can only admire it from a distance.
The Little Children — Summary
Hunger points a bony finger To the workhouse on the hill, But the little children linger While there's flowers to gather still For my sunny window sill.
In my hands I take their faces, Smiling to my smiles they run. Would that I could take their places Where the murky bye-ways shun The benedictions of the sun.
How they laugh and sing returning Lightly on their secret way. While I listen in my yearning Their laughter fills the windy day With gladness, youth and May.