No More Learning

She has made the grass greener even here . . . with her grave--
My Kate.

VIII.

My dear one! --when thou wast alive with the rest,
I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best:
And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part
As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart--
My Kate?




A SONG FOR THE RAGGED SCHOOL OF LONDON.

WRITTEN IN ROME.


I.

I am listening here in Rome.
"England's strong," say many speakers,
"If she winks, the Czar must come,
Prow and topsail, to the breakers. "

II.

"England's rich in coal and oak,"
Adds a Roman, getting moody;
"If she shakes a travelling cloak,
Down our Appian roll the scudi. "

III.
"England's righteous," they rejoin:
"Who shall grudge her exaltations
When her wealth of golden coin
Works the welfare of the nations? "

IV.

I am listening here in Rome.
Over Alps a voice is sweeping--
"England's cruel, save us some
Of these victims in her keeping! "

V.

As the cry beneath the wheel
Of an old triumphant Roman
Cleft the people's shouts like steel,
While the show was spoilt for no man,

VI.

Comes that voice. Let others shout,
Other poets praise my land here:
I am sadly sitting out,
Praying, "God forgive her grandeur. "

VII.

Shall we boast of empire, where
Time with ruin sits commissioned?
In God's liberal blue air
Peter's dome itself looks wizened;

VIII.

And the mountains, in disdain,
Gather back their lights of opal
From the dumb despondent plain
Heaped with jawbones of a people.

IX.

Lordly English, think it o'er,
Caesar's doing is all undone!
You have cannons on your shore,
And free Parliaments in London;

X.

Princes' parks, and merchants' homes,
Tents for soldiers, ships for seamen,--
Ay, but ruins worse than Rome's
In your pauper men and women.