Classic Poem

She who had stumbled on it shrank away
Abasht; not daring, at the first, to say
Such words as, meant for comfort, might have been
Too much like insult to that grim-faced Queen,
Or King, whiche'er it was, of Wretchedness.
Her own much misery seem'd so much less
Than this, flung down before her, — by God sent,
It may have been, for her admonishment.
But, at the last, she timidly drew near
And whisper'd faintly in the creature's ear,
" Have you no home? "
No look even made reply,
Much less a word. But on the stolid sky
The stolid face stared ever.
" Are you cold? "
A sort of inward creepy movement roll'd
The rustled rags. And still the stolid face
Perused the stolid sky. Perhaps the case
Supposed was too self-evident to claim
More confirmation than what creeping came
To crumble those chill rags; subsiding soon,
As tho' to be unnoticed were a boon,
All kinds of notice having proved unkind.
Such creatures as men hunt are loth to find
The hole discovered where they hide; and, when
By chance you stir them out of it, they then
Make haste to feign to be already dead,
Hoping escape that way.
The woman said
More faintly, " Are you hungry? "
There, at once
Finding intensest utterance for the nonce,
With such a howl 'twould chill your blood to hear
The wolf-jaws wail'd out, " Hungry? ha, look here! "
And, therewith, fingers of a skeleton claw
Tearing asunder those foul rags, you saw
... Was it a woman's breast? It might be so.
It look'd like nothing human that I know.
She, whose faint question such shrill response woke,
Stood stupefied, stunn'd, sick.