The poem
In city shop a hat I saw That to my fancy seemed to strike, I gave my wage to buy the straw, And make myself a one the like.
I wore it to the village fair; Oh proud I was, though poor was I. The maids looked at me with a stare, The lads looked at me with a sigh.
I wore it Sunday to the Mass. The other girls wore handkerchiefs. I saw them darkly watch and pass, With sullen smiles, with hidden griefs.
And then with sobbing fear I fled, But they waylayed me on the street, And tore the hat from off my head, And trampled it beneath their feet.
I sought the Church; my grief was wild, And by my mother's grave I sat: . . . I've never cried for clay-cold child, As I wept for that ruined hat.