Faces In The Street

They lie, the men who tell us in a loud decisive tone
That want here is a stranger, and that misery’s unknown;
For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet
My window-sill is level with the faces in the street —
Drifting past, drifting past,
To the beat of weary feet —
While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.
…
And so it must be while the world goes rolling round its course,
The warning pen shall write in vain, the warning voice grow hoarse,
But not until a city feels Red Revolution’s feet
Shall its sad people miss awhile the terrors of the street —
The dreadful everlasting strife
For scarcely clothes and meat
In that pent track of living death — the city’s cruel street.

— Henry Lawson, “Faces in the Street” (1888)

A late afternoon walk in drizzling rain to show K this mural. Lawson, left, lived in Newtown for a while.

Thanks for hosting Marlieske.