 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
CENT. PER CENT.—UP.
Up the stately steps she goes,
In her hundred-guinea dress,
Wrung from toilers' dying throes,
Poverty and nakedness;
Bought with bitter orphan's tears,
Rainbow never graced or girt,
Shaped with shadowing orphan's fears,
Ground by spoiler in the dirt;
Ah, she treads on famished frame,
Gyved with grief, with suffering rent,
Scornful in her scarlet shame,
Infamy of cent. per cent.
In her hundred-guinea dress,
Wrung from toilers' dying throes,
Poverty and nakedness;
Bought with bitter orphan's tears,
Rainbow never graced or girt,
Shaped with shadowing orphan's fears,
Ground by spoiler in the dirt;
385
Gyved with grief, with suffering rent,
Scornful in her scarlet shame,
Infamy of cent. per cent.
Every stitch has cost a sigh,
Done in weary woe and pain,
Killing hopes that would be high,
Coined into the sweater's gain;
Every seam that splendour's flood
Swells with sweet enchanting art,
Fashioned is of very blood,
Drawn from aching breaking heart;
Oh, the garment wrought in strife,
Earning scarce the crust of bread,
Sewn with precious threads of life,
Should be garment for the dead.
Done in weary woe and pain,
Killing hopes that would be high,
Coined into the sweater's gain;
Every seam that splendour's flood
Swells with sweet enchanting art,
Fashioned is of very blood,
Drawn from aching breaking heart;
Oh, the garment wrought in strife,
Earning scarce the crust of bread,
Sewn with precious threads of life,
Should be garment for the dead.
Up the stately steps she goes,
Heedful of the passing stain,
Loth to soil her dainty toes
With one tiny drop of rain;
Many a thoughtful arm is thrust
Round to clear away the road,
Lest she catch a speck of dust,
Or her fan become a load;
Oh, she enters queenly drest,
Proud the portals shut her in,
Rich and beautiful and blest,
With her glory and her sin.
Heedful of the passing stain,
Loth to soil her dainty toes
With one tiny drop of rain;
Many a thoughtful arm is thrust
Round to clear away the road,
Lest she catch a speck of dust,
Or her fan become a load;
Oh, she enters queenly drest,
Proud the portals shut her in,
Rich and beautiful and blest,
With her glory and her sin.
All for her make abject way,
Rank rejoices in the smile
Which ennobles, and can pay
Well for each unhallowed wile;
Wisdom murmurs in her ear
Wit of every classic kind,
In her folly feigns to hear
Echoes of a loftier mind;
Ah, to her they grovel down—
Her on whom are thousands spent—
Creep before that devil's crown,
Majesty of cent. per cent.
Rank rejoices in the smile
Which ennobles, and can pay
Well for each unhallowed wile;
Wisdom murmurs in her ear
Wit of every classic kind,
In her folly feigns to hear
Echoes of a loftier mind;
Ah, to her they grovel down—
Her on whom are thousands spent—
Creep before that devil's crown,
Majesty of cent. per cent.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |