Francis William Lauderdale Adams Poems

CRUEL City, London, London,
Where, duped slaves of devils' creeds,
Men and women desperate, undone,
Dream such dreams, and do such deeds:
...

LET him who toils, enjoy
Fruit of his toiling.
Let him whom sweats annoy,
No more be spoiling.
...

WHEN day's hard task's done,
Eve's scant meal partaken,
Out we steal each one,
...

YOU ask me why I love her,
As I love nought on earth?
Why I'll put none above her
For sorrow or for mirth?
...

THIS is Scotch William Wallace. It was He
Who in dark hours first raised his face to see:
...

I SEE a Land of desperate droughts and floods:
I see a land where Need keeps spreading round,
And all but giants perish in the stress:
...

I STOOD in Père-la-Chaise. The putrid City,
Paris, the harlot of the nations, lay,
The bug-bright thing that knows not love nor pity,
...

I
AT anchor in that harbour of the island,
The Chinese Gate,
We lay where, terraced under green-clad highland,
...

UP from the oven pit,
The hell where poor men toil,
At the sunset hour he comes
Clean-clothed, washed from soil.
...

'A little Soldier of the Army of the Night'
BURY him without a word!
No appeal to death;
...