Lady Jane Wilde
Lady Jane Wilde Poems
Comments about Lady Jane Wilde
The Famine Year
Weary men, what reap ye? —Golden corn for the stranger.
What sow ye? —Human corses that wait for the avenger.
Fainting forms, hunger‐stricken, what see you in the offing?
Stately ships to bear our food away, amid the stranger's scoffing.
There's a proud array of soldiers—what do they round your door?
They guard our masters' granaries from the thin hands of the poor.
Pale mothers, wherefore weeping? —Would to God that we were dead
Our children swoon before us, and we cannot give them bread.
Little children, tears are strange upon your infant faces,
God meant you...
“De profundis clamavi ad te Domine.”
BY our looks of mute despair,
By the sighs that rend the air,
From lips too faint to utter prayer,
By the last groans of our dying,
Echoed by the cold wind’s sighing
On the wayside as they’re lying,