Classic Poem

And so there are poor hearts, poor hearts,
With lakes of bitter tears in them,
And they are death-pale like the stones
Of cemeteries.

And so there are poor backs, poor backs,
Heavier with trouble and with burdens
Than the roofs of the brown cassines
Among the dunes.

And so there are poor hands, poor hands,
Like the leaves upon the roads,
Like the yellow leaves and sad
Before the door.

And so there are poor eyes, poor eyes,
Humble and good and yet careworn,
And sadder than the eyes of beasts
Beneath the storm.

And so there are poor folk, poor folk,
With tired indulgent gestures who
Are harried by a griping dearth
Along the level plains of earth.