Out of the end of the wagon Stepped the police and their prisoners. Into the station they filed. Laborer in jeans, strong, independent, What have you done, Hiding your pride by your swing? No fellow you for the filthy tramp, Shambling behind, seeming so much at home. No fellow you for the shifty youth Winking and grinning from sidewalk to door. What you did I must know. I arrested you -- I, a citizen. No, not with my hands, but my agents, Policemen in blue, now guarding you. Brutal, impertinent, knowing their power, Burly, armed with revolvers and billies, Backed by their fellows and what is called law. Well -- the door shuts -- the crowd disappears. The wagon goes back for new loads. Placid, composed, the driver his horses turns And lo! in their mild eyes and gentle forms I see The only loving appeal In all this picture of woe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 39 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE MOON by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES WESSEX HEIGHTS by THOMAS HARDY FANNIE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A JAPANESE DWARF TREE by ISABEL ANDERSON MY LITTLE TASK by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 4 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |