Nature unfettered by man's civic need, Swirls flake on flake of wonder-working snow, Until the city's life goes muffled, slow, And each house worships fire -- its primal creed. Then poverty is called. Its armies speed, -- Feet tied in rags, hands bare that puffed cheeks blow -- To fight white barricades and traffic's foe. Ho! empty stomachs! You at last may feed. Preposterous world! The freezing serve the warm. The laborer walks to work while idlers ride; And thin, pinched bellies longest go unfed. Clean streets are bare of children; foul streets swarm. The lame run races and the blind men guide. Great God! Is this the world for which Christ bled? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RETORT by GEORGE POPE MORRIS THE SMACK IN SCHOOL by WILLIAM PITT PALMER THE HOLLY TREE by ROBERT SOUTHEY THE DEAD LEAF by ANTOINE VINCENT ARNAULT PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 68. AL-KADAR by EDWIN ARNOLD THE LOST LADY: SONG by WILLIAM BERKLEY |