Poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

The Poor

Few, save the poor, feel for the poor:
The rich know not how hard
It is to be of needful food
And needful rest debarred.

Their paths are paths of plenteousness,
They sleep on silk and down;
And never think how heavily
The weary head lies down.

They know not of the scanty meal,
With small pale faces round;
No fire upon the cold, damp hearth
When snow is on the ground.

They never by the window lean,
And see the gay pass by;
Then take their weary task again,
But with a sadder eye. 

1. Roland’s Tower
2. The Guerilla Chief
3. Rosalie
4. A Name
5. Sonnet (It is not in the day of revelry)

Jones Very The Poor ("I walk the streets and though not meanly drest")

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