WHERE is poor Jesus gone? He sits with Dives now, And his dogs flesh their teeth On Lazarus below. Where is poor Jesus gone?

SHE went along the road, Her baby in her arms, The night and its alarms Made deadlier her load. Her shrunken breasts were dry;

O India, India, O my lovely land… At whose sweet throat the greedy… With fangs and lips that suck and… Clings, while around thee, band by… The loathsome shape twists, chaini…

AT anchor in that harbour of the… The Chinese Gate, We lay where, terraced under green… The Sea-town sate. Ships, steamers, sailers, many a f…

YOU are at least a Man, of men a… You have a heart, and with that he… The race you come from is not gend… The filthy sty whose latest litter… Round England’s flesh-pots, gorge…

I SEE a Land of desperate drough… I see a land where Need keeps spr… And all but giants perish in the s… I see a Land where more, and more… The demons, Earth and Wealth, gro…

. . . In a dark street she met and… Importuning, one wet and mild Mar… We walked and talked together. O… Was very common; thousands know it… ‘Seduced’; a gentleman; a baby com…

CROUCHED in the terrible land, The circle of pitiless ice, With frozen bloody feet And her pestilential summer’s Fever-throb in her brow,

‘Susannah and Mary-Jane’ TWO little Darlings alone, Clinging hand in hand; Two little Girls come out To see the wonderful land!

(With his first book of 'Songs’) ‘MY Sweet, my Child, through all… Of dark and wind and rain, Where thunder crashes, and the lig… Sears the bewildered brain,

’TIS not when I am here, In these homeless homes, Where sin and shame and disease And foul death comes; ’Tis not when heart and brain

IN the chill grey summer dawn-lig… We pass through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent… No friend his fellow greets. Here and there, at the corners,

He sits. Upon the kingly head dot… The round-balled wimple, and the h… Touch on the shoulders where the s… The downward garment shows the amb… The Face—that Face one scarce can…

LET him who toils, enjoy Fruit of his toiling. Let him whom sweats annoy, No more be spoiling. For we would have it be

(The friend my verse won for me) With a Copy of My 'Poetical Work… ‘TAKE with all my heart, friend,… The labour of my past, Though the heart here hidden is