And some have borne sons, now ageing men; And most have seen death in their narrow house; Heard wedding bells for their grandchildren; Seen boys seek the bar for a last carouse; And heard wives cry, through thin plaster walls, And watched babies laugh in the sun, outside. They treasure things up in their withered old hearts, And always they sit looking out, with eyes wide. These queer old women, they watch, as they sit, Through the whole long day, what happens beneath They miss not a thing. Sometimes they knit, And sometimes dream a little, holding their breath. 1910. _Cherry Gardens_ (_Rotherhithe_) My man fell in, when he was drunk; They’d thrown him out o’ the “King’s Head.” From Wapping stairs he fell, and sunk. He was my man; he’s dead. On the cold slab, a sight to see, They’ve laid him out—poor handsome chap— In Rotherhithe’s new mortuary. His head should dent my lap, But I mayn’t warm him where he lies, Because I have no ring to show— Yet I’ve his bruises on my eyes; And bore his child a month ago. _Mare Street, N.E._ In Mare Street, Hackney, Sunday nights, My Jim he’d search for souls to save: Beneath one of them showman’s lights He’d stand up white and brave. “And who’s for Jesus now?” he’d call, “And who’s for Love that’s strong? Repent, believe: there’s Heaven for all That turns and flees from wrong....” I wish no harm to my poor Jim, But God strike Lizzie dead! ’Twas cruel of her to lead the hymn, With me laid ill, in bed. They’re gone—last month—to Leytonstone; Jim has a pulpit there; So I’m left hungering here alone, While _she_ joins him in pray’r. _Kingsland Road, N.E._ _As I went walking down the Kingsland Road_ _I met an old man, with a very heavy load;_ _He had a crooked nose, and one tooth in his head,_ _And as I went by him he stopped me, and said:_ I’m an old, old man With a very heavy sack— But when I was a young ’un I’d a heavier pack. Now my eyes are all dim, But my heart’s full of fun; Oh! heavy was my heart When my eyes were young. I’d a cartload of trouble All along o’ my wife. —It was trying to be happy Made a Hell of my life! I’m an old, old man With a gert heavy sack— But when I was a young ’un It nigh broke my back! _When I looked in his eyes I saw that they were blue,_ _And the skin of his face it was wrinkled through and through,_ _He had big hairy ears, and his beard it was white:_ _And twittering and laughing he passed into the night._ _Living-In_ (_Brixton Rise_) Through the small window comes the roar Of all the world of light outside: It is not midnight, yet our door Is shut on us, and we are tied. What is he doing now—my dear? I left him all on fire for me: Will he be true? Oh God, I fear He’ll buy what I would give him free! _Newport Street, E._