ON the outskirts of a great city, A street of fashionable mansions well withdrawn from all the noise and bustle; And in the street—the only figure there—in the middle of the road, in the bitter wind, Red-nosed, thin-shawled, with ancles bare and old boots, A woman bent and haggard, croaking a dismal song. And the great windows stare upon her wretchedness, and stare across the road upon each other, With big fool eyes; But not a door is opened, not a face is seen, Nor form of life down all the dreary street, To certify the existence of humanity— Other than hers. |