IT'S dirty, ill-smelling, Its fellows the same, With hardly a dwelling Deserving the name; It's noisy and narrow, With angles replete — Not straight as an arrow Is Poverty Street. Its houses are battered, Unheated and small, While children all tattered Respond to the call; There's nothing inviting That's likely to greet The stranger alighting In Poverty Street. But something redeeming Lies under it all; Ambition is dreaming In some little hall; Some mother is praying Successes may meet The boy who is playing In Poverty Street. Some fathers, depriving Themselves of all joys, Are valiantly striving For sake of their boys; Some sisters and brothers, In sacrifice sweet, Are living for others In Poverty Street. And ever and always Is charity shown, In alleys or hallways None suffer alone; For sorrow no blindness The suffering meet; There's millions — in kindness — In Poverty Street. Though lacking in glory And lacking in art, There's many a story Appeals to the heart; And years that are blighting With tales of defeat Find heroes still fighting In Poverty Street. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BROODING GRIEF by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE THE HAPPY WARRIOR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH OCTOBER FROM A BUS WINDOW by ELLA MCBRIDE BALLEW A CIDER SONG by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON TO PHILLIP AYRES, ESQ.; ON HIS POEMS by C. DARTIQUENAVE THE SONG OF THOMAS THE RHYMER by MARJORIE CHARLES DRISCOLL |