Hard by the road, where on that little mound <br /> The high grass rustles to the passing breeze, <br /> The child of Misery rests her head in peace. <br />Pause there in sadness. That unhallowed ground <br />Inshrines what once was Isabel. Sleep on <br /> Sleep on, poor Outcast! lovely was thy cheek, <br /> And thy mild eye was eloquent to speak <br />The soul of Pity. Pale and woe-begone <br />Soon did thy fair cheek fade, and thine eye weep <br /> The tear of anguish for the babe unborn, <br /> The helpless heir of Poverty and Scorn. <br />She drank the draught that chill'd her soul to sleep. <br />I pause and wipe the big drop from mine eye, <br />Whilst the proud Levite scowls and passes by.<br /><br />Robert Southey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-05/
