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Sad, Robert Southey, in English Clear filters

SadRobert Southey

The Soldier's Wife

Weary way-wanderer languid and sick at heart Travelling painfully over the rugged road, Wild-visag'd Wanderer! ah for thy heavy chance! Sorely thy little one drags by thee bare-footed, Cold is the baby that hangs at thy bending back Meagre and livid and screaming its wretchedness. Woe-begone mother, half anger, half agony, As over thy shoulder thou lookest to hush the babe, Bleakly the blinding snow beats in thy hagged face. Thy husband will never return from the war again, Cold is thy hopeless heart even as Charity-- Cold are thy famish'd babes--God help thee, widow'd One!
SadRobert Southey

The Pauper's Funeral

What! and not one to heave the pious sigh! Not one whose sorrow-swoln and aching eye For social scenes, for life's endearments fled, Shall drop a tear and dwell upon the dead! Poor wretched Outcast! I will weep for thee, And sorrow for forlorn humanity. Yes I will weep, but not that thou art come To the stern Sabbath of the silent tomb: For squalid Want, and the black scorpion Care, Heart-withering fiends! shall never enter there. I sorrow for the ills thy life has known As thro' the world's long pilgrimage, alone, Haunted by Poverty and woe-begone, Unloved, unfriended, thou didst journey on: Thy youth in ignorance and labour past, And thine old age all barrenness and blast!

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