by Edward Youl.
Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William Lovett) vol.1 #9 (27 Feb 1847).
I.
Birds find their lodgings in the eaves;
Rats have their homes in sewer and drain;
Torpid, beneath the last year’s leaves,
The unmolested snakes remain;
The little dormouse in her cell,
Dug deep in root of forest oak,
Has slept since first the snow-flakes fell,—
Secure,—and has not once awoke.
But Women and Men, i' the frozen street,
Are houseless--houseless every night;
And children, till the cold, grey light,
Trample the town with weary feet.
II.
Deeper than frost, beneath the mould,
Pierces its way the garden worm;
The snail withdraws its horns from the cold;
The ant in her nest keeps winter-term;
Green-backed beetle, and slimy slug,
And speckled eft, have quarters warm;
The woodlouse under the bark is snug;
The earwig takes no wintry harm.
But Women and Men, i' the frozen street,
Are houseless--houseless every night;
And children, till the cold, grey light,
Trample the town with weary feet.
III.
Many-legged creatures, and those with wings,—
Hum-drum hornet, and toiling bee,—
All the rare and beautiful things
Of insect-life, that on earth we see,—
All the repulsive shapes that creep,—
All the rejoicing things that fly,—
Are laid in warm rest, fast asleep:
None are exposed to the cutting sky.
But Women and Men, i' the frozen street,
Are houseless--houseless every night;
And children, till the cold, grey light,
Trample the town with weary feet.