Mine eyes from all this hungry stare
That fills the face and eyes of men
Who search for food o’er hill and glen.
Their eyes are orbs of dullest fire,
As if the flame would mount up higher;
But in the darkness of their glow
We know the fuel’s burning low.
Such looks, O gods, are not from thee!
No, they’re the stares of misery!
They speak of hunger’s frightful hold