The Poor

    FEW, save the poor, feel for the poor:
        The rich know not how hard
    It is to be of needful food
        And needful rest debarred.

    Their paths are paths of plenteousness,
        They sleep on silk and down;
    And never think how heavily
        The weary head lies down.

    They know not of the scanty meal,
        With small pale faces round;
    No fire upon the cold, damp hearth
        When snow is on the ground.

    They never by the window lean,
        And see the gay pass by;
    Then take their weary task again,
        But with a sadder eye.

        L.E.L.