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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408612" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Faces In The Street</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They lie, the men who tell us in a loud decisive tone <br>That want is here a stranger, and that misery's unknown; <br>For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet <br>My window-sill is level with the faces in the street -- <br> Drifting past, drifting past, <br> To the beat of weary feet -- <br>While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street. <br> <br>And cause I have to sorrow, in a land so young and fair, <br>To see upon those faces stamped the marks of Want and Care; <br>I look in vain for traces of the fresh and fair and sweet <br>In sallow, sunken faces that are drifting through the street -- <br> Drifting on, drifting on, <br> To the scrape of restless feet; <br>I can sorrow for the owners of the faces in the street. <br> <br>In hours before the dawning dims the starlight in the sky <br>The wan and weary faces first begin to trickle by, <br>Increasing as the moments hurry on with morning feet, <br>Till like a pallid river flow the faces in the street -- <br> Flowing in, flowing in, <br> To the beat of hurried feet -- <br>Ah! I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street. <br> <br>The human river dwindles when 'tis past the hour of eight, <br>Its waves go flowing faster in the fear of being late; <br>But slowly drag the moments, whilst beneath the dust and heat <br>The city grinds the owners of the faces in the street -- <br> Grinding body, grinding soul, <br> Yielding scarce enough to eat -- <br>Oh! I sorrow for the owners of the faces in the street. <br> <br>And then the only faces till the sun is sinking down <br>Are those of outside toilers and the idlers of the town, <br>Save here and there a face that seems a stranger in the street, <br>Tells of the city's unemployed upon his weary beat -- <br> Drifting round, drifting round, <br> To the tread of listless feet -- <br>Ah! My heart aches for the owner of that sad face in the street. <br> <br>And when the hours on lagging feet have slowly dragged away, <br>And sickly yellow gaslights rise to mock the going day, <br>Then flowing past my window like a tide in its retreat, <br>Again I see the pallid stream of faces in the street -- <br> Ebbing out, ebbing out, <br> To the drag of tired feet, <br>While my heart is aching dumbly for the faces in the street. <br> <br>And now all blurred and smirched with vice the day's sad pages end, <br>For while the short `large hours' toward the longer `small hours' trend, <br>With smiles that mock the wearer, and with words that half entreat, <br>Delilah pleads for custom at the corner of the street -- <br> Sinking down, sinking down, <br> Battered wreck by tempests beat -- <br>A dreadful, thankless trade is hers, that Woman of the Street. <br> <br>But, ah! to dreader things than these our fair young city comes, <br>For in its heart are growing thick the filthy dens and slums, <br>Where human forms shall rot away in sties for swine unmeet, <br>And ghostly faces shall be seen unfit for any street -- <br> Rotting out, rotting out, <br> For the lack of air and meat -- <br>In dens of vice and horror that are hidden from the street. <br> <br>I wonder would the apathy of wealthy men endure <br>Were all their windows level with the faces of the Poor? <br>Ah! Mammon's slaves, your knees shall knock, your hearts in terror beat, <br>When God demands a reason for the sorrows of the street, <br> The wrong things and the bad things <br> And the sad things that we meet <br>In the filthy lane and alley, and the cruel, heartless street. <br> <br>I left the dreadful corner where the steps are never still, <br>And sought another window overlooking gorge and hill; <br>But when the night came dreary with the driving rain and sleet, <br>They haunted me -- the shadows of those faces in the street, <br> Flitting by, flitting by, <br> Flitting by with noiseless feet, <br>And with cheeks but little paler than the real ones in the street. <br> <br>Once I cried: `Oh, God Almighty! if Thy might doth still endure, <br>Now show me in a vision for the wrongs of Earth a cure.' <br>And, lo! with shops all shuttered I beheld a city's street, <br>And in the warning distance heard the tramp of many feet, <br> Coming near, coming near, <br> To a drum's dull distant beat, <br>And soon I saw the army that was marching down the street. <br> <br>Then, like a swollen river that has broken bank and wall, <br>The human flood came pouring with the red flags over all, <br>And kindled eyes all blazing bright with revolution's heat, <br>And flashing swords reflecting rigid faces in the street. <br> Pouring on, pouring on, <br> To a drum's loud threatening beat, <br>And the war-hymns and the cheering of the people in the street. <br> <br>And so it must be while the world goes rolling round its course, <br>The warning pen shall write in vain, the warning voice grow hoarse, <br>But not until a city feels Red Revolution's feet <br>Shall its sad people miss awhile the terrors of the street -- <br> The dreadful everlasting strife <br> For scarcely clothes and meat <br>In that pent track of living death -- the city's cruel street.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408612" data-title="Faces In The Street de Henry Lawson" data-description="They lie, the men who tell us in a loud decisive tone 
That want is here a stranger, and that misery's unknown; 
For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet 
My window-sill is level with the faces in the street -- 
 Drifting past, drifti..."></div>
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