The Beggar

When the ships blow up and the towers fall down,
There dogs mankind, through lane and town,
A querulous Beggar in a Syrian dress,
Telling the story of his wan distress:
He dogs the market-place, he dogs church-door,
The wagons and the wharves from shore to shore;
" A penny, a penny , " he crieth his lack
Down a million miles of railroad track;
The cottages of all the lands make one row;
And the gatemen at the shops daren't bid him go;
And the bank-grilles open as his steps advance,
And he walks right up through the roses and the dance ...
And I saw him one morning in Trafalgar Square,
And when I loafed at Lemnos, he was there!

Though he is not blind, nor has a wooden leg,
Yet the people all would shudder were he not to beg ...
And he hits you a palm and his one song old:
" My children . . are hungry . . my children . . are cold. "
When the great Dam bursts and the Red River runs,
And the Earthquake smites, and the Forests are a-smoke,
And a hundred leagues of Cannon char earth to a coke,
Hear the wailing of the Beggar in the Galilean cloak —
For the wailing of the Beggar is louder than the guns ...
As he lifts you a palm and his one song old:
" My children . . are hungry . . my children . . are cold. "

It was on Broadway that I saw him last,
Where the roof-signs flare on cornice and mast.