The Lodging-house fire

For listen: it is death

To watch that fire’s glow;

For, as it burns more red

Men paler grow.

O better in foul room

That’s warm, make life away,

Than homeless out of doors,

Cold night and day.

Pile on the coke, make fire,

Rouse its death-dealing glow;

Men are borne dead away

Ere they can know.

I lie; I cannot watch

Its glare from hour to hour;

It makes one sleep, to wake

Out of my power.

I close my eyes and swear

It shall not wield its power;

No use, I wake to find

A murdered hour.

Lying between us there!

That fire drowsed me deep,

And I wrought murder’s deed—

Did it in sleep.

I count us, thirty men,

Huddled from Winter’s blow,

Helpless to move away

From that fire’s glow.