No More Learning

Women leering through the gas
(Just such bosoms used to nurse you),
Men, turned wolves by famine--pass!
Those can speak themselves, and curse you.

XII.

But these others--children small,
Spilt like blots about the city,
Quay, and street, and palace-wall--
Take them up into your pity!

XIII.

Ragged children with bare feet,
Whom the angels in white raiment
Know the names of, to repeat
When they come on you for payment.

XIV.

Ragged children, hungry-eyed,
Huddled up out of the coldness
On your doorsteps, side by side,
Till your footman damns their boldness.

XV.

In the alleys, in the squares,
Begging, lying little rebels;
In the noisy thoroughfares,
Struggling on with piteous trebles.

XVI.

Patient children--think what pain
Makes a young child patient--ponder!
Wronged too commonly to strain
After right, or wish, or wonder.

XVII.

Wicked children, with peaked chins,
And old foreheads!
there are many
With no pleasures except sins,
Gambling with a stolen penny.

XVIII.

Sickly children, that whine low
To themselves and not their mothers,
From mere habit,--never so
Hoping help or care from others.

XIX.

Healthy children, with those blue
English eyes, fresh from their Maker,
Fierce and ravenous, staring through
At the brown loaves of the baker.

XX.

I am listening here in Rome,
And the Romans are confessing,
"English children pass in bloom
All the prettiest made for blessing.

XXI.

"_Angli angeli! _" (resumed
From the mediaeval story)
"Such rose angelhoods, emplumed
In such ringlets of pure glory! "

XXII.

Can we smooth down the bright hair,
O my sisters, calm, unthrilled in
Our heart's pulses? Can we bear
The sweet looks of our own children,

XXIII.

While those others, lean and small,
Scurf and mildew of the city,
Spot our streets, convict us all
Till we take them into pity?

XXIV.

"Is it our fault?