Another name was on the door:

I lingered; all within was noise

Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys

That crashed the glass and beat the floor;

Where once we held debate, a band

Of youthful friends, on mind and art,

And labour, and the changing mart,

And all the framework of the land…

–from “In Memoriam A.H.H.” Alfred, Lord Tennyson


My labour never flags;

And what are its wages?

A bed of straw,

A crust of bread and rags,

That shatter’d roof, and this naked floor

A table–a broken chair–

A wall so blank, my shadow I thank

For sometimes falling there!

–from “Song of the Shirt,” Thomas Hood