Staring Corpselike At The Ceiling, See His Harsh, Unrazored Features, Ghastly Brown Against The Pillow, And His Throat - So Strangely Bandaged! Lack Of Work And Lack Of Victuals, A Debauch Of Smuggled Whisky, And His Children In The Workhouse Made The World So Black A Riddle That He Plunged For A Solution; And, Although His Knife Was Edgeless, He Was Sinking Fast Towards One, When They Came, And Found, And Saved Him. Stupid Now With Shame And Sorrow, In The Night I Hear Him Sobbing. But Sometimes He Talks A Little. He Has Told Me All His Troubles. In His Broad Face, Tanned And Bloodless, White And Wild His Eyeballs Glisten; And His Smile, Occult And Tragic, Yet So Slavish, Makes You Shudder!