Him stunned and bleeding upon his face.
A rope, a prayer, and an oak-tree near.
And a score of hands to swing him clear.
A grim black thing for the setting sun
And the moon and the stars to look upon.
PENURY
Above his misered embers, gnarled and gray,
With toil-twitched limbs he bends; around his hut,
Want, like a hobbling hag, goes night and day,
Scolding at windows and at doors tight-shut.