Classic Poem

I am held by a thought in a dungeon deep,
Deep under the earth. In a certain town,
Where is traffic, and shout, and roar on the air,
Where the fresh salt wind, that fain would sweep
Straight to the river, is ladened down
With all pollution, I saw a pair,
—Pitiful pair—of babies sit,
Back from the street, in a doorway dim,
On a tenement threshold cold and bare,
Stifling each his sobbing fit,
Fearful each lest he cry aloud.
And the thought that holds me fast-bound, down
Under the earth in a dungeon grim,
Is that these two knew the heart of the crowd,
In the very midst of that Christian town.