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 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
With sullen thoughts that smoulder hour by hour
In vague expectancy of help or hope
Which still eludes my brain, waiting I sit
Like a blind beggar at a palace-gate,
Who hears the rustling past of silks, and airs
Of costly odor mock him blowing by,
And feels within a dull and aching wish
That the proud wall would let some coping down
To crush him dead, and let him have his rest.
In vague expectancy of help or hope
100
Like a blind beggar at a palace-gate,
Who hears the rustling past of silks, and airs
Of costly odor mock him blowing by,
And feels within a dull and aching wish
That the proud wall would let some coping down
To crush him dead, and let him have his rest.
No help from men: they could not, if they would.
And God? He lets His world be wrung with pain.
No help at all then? Let life be in vain:
To get no help is surely greatest gain;
To taunt the hunger down is sweetest food.
And God? He lets His world be wrung with pain.
No help at all then? Let life be in vain:
To get no help is surely greatest gain;
To taunt the hunger down is sweetest food.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |