Poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

The Poor

Few, save the poor, feel for the poor:
The rich know not how hard
It is to be of needful food
And needful rest debarred.

Their paths are paths of plenteousness,
They sleep on silk and down;
And never think how heavily
The weary head lies down.

They know not of the scanty meal,
With small pale faces round;
No fire upon the cold, damp hearth
When snow is on the ground.

They never by the window lean,
And see the gay pass by;
Then take their weary task again,
But with a sadder eye. 

1. Ideal Likenesses. Ariadne
2. The Reply of the Fountain
3. The Tournament
4. The Nameless Grave
5. Song (I wrote my name upon the sand)

Jones Very The Poor ("I walk the streets and though not meanly drest")

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