THE SAD YEARS
THE HUMAN TOUCH (Continued)
She made roses all the day for pretty ladies' wear,
Threepence for a dozen such, working to the night.
Just an hour of holiday left her cupboard bare,
She knew naught of Regent Street or of war's affright.
Sudden in a dusky hour came a stranger bird,
To the frightened city's gloom, in her silent race
Flew to drop her evil egg where the slow winds stirred
Wrapping mist from some rich store for her nesting place.
But the pitying breath of night blowing from the west
Blew the evil bird to go in the smoke and gloom,
So that sudden death might bring for the toiler rest—
Give her splendid liberty from her prison room.
She had never time to weep, dim eyes and holiday,
Left her roses all unborn, left the cupboard bare.
Now she cried and rising flung roses all away,
Swift as any lady ran down the narrow stair.
