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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Chiffonier

By William Wetmore Story (1819–1895)

I AM a poor Chiffonier!

I seek what others cast away!

In refuse-heaps the world throws by,

Despised of man, my trade I ply;

And oft I rake them o’er and o’er,

And fragments broken, stained, and torn,

I gather up, and make my store

Of things that dogs and beggars scorn.

I am the poor Chiffonier!

You see me in the dead of night

Peering along with pick and light,

And while the world in darkness sleeps,

Waking to rake its refuse-heaps:

I scare the dogs that round them prowl,

And light amid the rubbish throw:

For precious things are hid by foul,

Where least we heed and least we know.

I am the poor Chiffonier!

No wretched and rejected pile,

No tainted mound of offal vile,

No drain or gutter I despise,

For there may lie the richest prize,

And oft amid the litter thrown,

A silver coin—a golden ring—

Which holdeth still its precious stone,

Some happy chance to me may bring.

I am the poor Chiffonier!

These tattered rags, so soiled and frayed,

Were in a loom of wonder made,

And beautiful and free from shame

When from the master’s hand they came.

The reckless world that threw them off

Now heeds them only to despise;

Yet, ah! despite its jeers and scoff,

What virtue still within them lies!

I am the poor Chiffonier!

Yes! all these shreds so spoiled and torn,

These ruined rags you pass in scorn,

This refuse by the highway tost,

I seek that they may not be lost;

And, cleansed from filth that on them lies,

And purified and purged from stain,

Renewed in beauty they shall rise

To wear a spotless form again.

I am the poor Chiffonier!