# Two Poems - E B Browning and R Browning/A Plea for the Ragged Schools of London

A PLEA
FOR
THE RAGGED SCHOOLS OF LONDON.
WRITTEN IN ROME.
I.
"England's strong," say many speakers, "If she winks, the Czar must come, Prow and topsail, to the breakers."
II.
Adds a Roman, getting moody, "If she shakes a travelling cloak, Down our Appian roll the scudi."
III.
"Who shall grudge her exultations, When her wealth of golden coin Works the welfare of the nations?"
IV.
Over Alps a voice is sweeping— "England's cruel! save us some Of these victims in her keeping!"
V.
Of an old triumphal Roman Cleft the people's shouts like steel, While the show was spoilt for no man,
VI.
Other poets praise my land here— I am sadly sitting out, Praying, "God forgive her grandeur."
VII.
Time with ruin sits commissioned? In God's liberal blue air Peter's dome itself looks wizened;
VIII.
Gather back their lights of opal Prom the dumb, despondent plain, Heaped with jawbones of a people.
IX.
Cæsar's doing is all undone! You have cannons on your shore, And free parliaments in London,
X.
Tents for soldiers, ships for seamen,— Ay, but ruins worse than Rome's In your pauper men and women.
XI.
Just such bosoms used to nurse you! Men, turned wolves by famine—pass; Those can speak themselves, and curse you.
XII.
Spilt like blots about the city, Quay, and street, and palace-wall— Take them up into your pity!
XIII.
Whom the angels in white raiment Know the names of, to repeat When they come on you for payment.
XIV.
Huddled up out of the coldness On your doorsteps, side by side, Till your footman damns their boldness.
XV.
Begging, lying little rebels; In the noisy thoroughfares, Struggling on with piteous trebles.
XVI.
Makes a young child patient—ponder! Wronged too commonly to strain After right, or wish, or wonder.
XVII.
And old foreheads! there are many With no pleasures except sins, Gambling with a stolen penny.
XVIII.
To themselves and not their mothers, From mere habit,—never so Hoping help or care from others.
XIX.
English eyes, fresh from their Maker, Fierce and ravenous, staring through At the brown loaves of the baker.
XX.
And the Romans are confessing, "English children pass in bloom All the prettiest made for blessing.
XXI.
From the mediæval story) "Such rose angelhoods, emplumed In such ringlets of pure glory!"
XXII.
O my sisters, calm, unthrilled in Our heart's pulses? Can we bear The sweet looks of our own children,
XXIII.
Scurf and mildew of the city, Spot our streets, convict us all Till we take them into pity?
XXIV.
"When, throughout civilization, Every nation's empery Is asserted by starvation?
XXV.
And we cannot clothe these bodies." Well, if man's so hard indeed, Let them learn at least what God is!
XXVI.
The grave's hope they may be joined in, By Christ's covenant consoled For our social contract's grinding.
XXVII.
Let us do but this,—endeavour That the sun behind the sun Shine upon them while they shiver!
XXVIII.
Through the cruel social juggle, Put a thought beneath their rags To ennoble the heart's struggle.
XXIX.
Are we asked for—not a blossom From our children's nosegay, such As we gave it from our bosom,—
XXX.
Not the lamp while they are sleeping, Not the little cloak hung up While the coat's in daily keeping,—
XXXI.
Where the outcasts may to-morrow Learn by gentle words and rules Just the uses of their sorrow.
XXXII.
Blue-eyed, wailing through the city, Our own babes cry in them all, Let us take them into pity.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.