Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists? <br />And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? <br />And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? <br />Oh they're taking him to prison for the color of his hair. <br /> <br />'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his; <br />In the good old time 'twas hanging for the color that it is; <br />Though hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair <br />For the nameless and abominable color of his hair. <br /> <br />Oh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid <br />To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade; <br />But they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare, <br />And they're taking him to justice for the color of his hair. <br /> <br />Now 'tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet, <br />And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat, <br />And between his spells of labor in the time he has to spare <br />He can curse the God that made him for the color of his hair.<br /><br />Alfred Edward Housman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/oh-who-is-that-young-sinner/
