But have I not good cause?
"We are cut off from hope in our hard place,
Sweet factory? Ah, well, our sweets are few.
We strike for justice. Man might show some grace,
I think, Sir; do not you?"
Turning I saw, ranging a flowery pile,
One sitting in an entry dark and cold;
A girl with hectic cheeks, and hollow smile;
Wired roses there she sold,
Or strove to sell; but often on her ear