She only said, “It’s very dreary,
I thought there would be some.”
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
And yet no lodgers come!”
About a stone’s throw from the wall,
A man with blackened features swept,
And round him, large and small,
Ill-manner’d boys for mischief crept.
Hard by an organ’s dismal moan
Play’d worn-out tunes of nigger airs,