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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529821" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Song of the Shirt</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Song of the Shirt</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With fingers weary and worn, <br> With eyelids heavy and red, <br>A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, <br> Plying her needle and thread-- <br> Stitch! stitch! stitch! <br>In poverty, hunger, and dirt, <br> And still with a voice of dolorous pitch <br>She sang the &quot;Song of the Shirt.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Work! work! work! <br>While the cock is crowing aloof! <br> And work — work — work, <br>Till the stars shine through the roof! <br>It's Oh! to be a slave <br> Along with the barbarous Turk, <br>Where woman has never a soul to save, <br> If this is Christian work!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Work — work — work <br>Till the brain begins to swim; <br> Work — work — work <br>Till the eyes are heavy and dim! <br>Seam, and gusset, and band, <br>Band, and gusset, and seam, <br>Till over the buttons I fall asleep, <br> And sew them on in a dream!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Oh, Men, with Sisters dear! <br> Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives! <br>It is not linen you're wearing out, <br> But human creatures' lives! <br> Stitch — stitch — stitch, <br> In poverty, hunger, and dirt, <br>Sewing at once with a double thread, <br>A Shroud as well as a Shirt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But why do I talk of Death? <br> That Phantom of grisly bone, <br>I hardly fear its terrible shape, <br> It seems so like my own —<br> It seems so like my own, <br>Because of the fasts I keep; <br>Oh, God! that bread should be so dear, <br> And flesh and blood so cheap!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Work — work — work! <br> My Labour never flags; <br>And what are its wages? A bed of straw, <br> A crust of bread — and rags. <br>That shatter'd roof — and this naked floor —<br> A table — a broken chair —<br>And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank <br> For sometimes falling there!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Work — work — work! <br>From weary chime to chime, <br> Work — work — work! <br>As prisoners work for crime! <br> Band, and gusset, and seam, <br> Seam, and gusset, and band, <br>Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd, <br> As well as the weary hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Work — work — work, <br>In the dull December light, <br> And work — work — work, <br>When the weather is warm and bright —<br>While underneath the eaves <br> The brooding swallows cling <br>As if to show me their sunny backs <br> And twit me with the spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! but to breathe the breath <br>Of the cowslip and primrose sweet —<br> With the sky above my head, <br>And the grass beneath my feet <br>For only one short hour <br> To feel as I used to feel, <br>Before I knew the woes of want <br> And the walk that costs a meal!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! but for one short hour! <br> A respite however brief! <br>No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, <br> But only time for Grief! <br>A little weeping would ease my heart, <br> But in their briny bed <br>My tears must stop, for every drop <br> Hinders needle and thread!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With fingers weary and worn, <br> With eyelids heavy and red, <br>A woman sat in unwomanly rags, <br> Plying her needle and thread —<br> Stitch! stitch! stitch! <br> In poverty, hunger, and dirt, <br>And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, —<br>Would that its tone could reach the Rich! —<br>She sang this &quot;Song of the Shirt!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Hood">Thomas Hood</a><div class=q>
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With fingers weary and worn, 
 With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
 Plying her needle and thread-- 
 Stitch! stitch! stitch! 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 And still with a voice of dolorous pitch..."></div>
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