A Loafer

In Piccadilly spirits pass:

Oh, eyes and cheeks that glow!

Oh, strength and comeliness! Alas,

The lustrous health is earth I know

From shrinking eyes that recognise

No brother in my rags and woe.

I know no handicraft, no art,

But I have conquered fate;

For I have chosen the better part,

And neither hope, nor fear, nor hate.

With placid breath on pain and death,

My certain alms, alone I wait.

And daily, nightly comes the call,

The pale unechoing note,

The faint "Aha!" sent from the wall

Of heaven, but from no ruddy throat

Of human breed or seraph's seed,

A phantom voice that cries by rote.