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Idleness.
By W. M. MacKeracher
The street was brisk, an animated scene,
And every man was on some business bent,
Absorbed in some employment or intent,
Pre-occupied, intelligent and keen.
True, some were dwarf'd and some were pale and lean.
But to the sorriest visage Labor lent
A light, transfiguring with her sacrament
The abject countenance and slavish mien.
But one - he shambled aimlessly along
Asham'd, and shrunk from the abstracted ken
Of passers-by with conscience-struck recoil,
A pariah, a leper in the throng,
An alien from the commonwealth of men,
A stranger to the covenant of toil.
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