WE had a female Passenger who came <br />From Calais with us, spotless in array,-- <br />A white-robed Negro, like a lady gay, <br />Yet downcast as a woman fearing blame; <br />Meek, destitute, as seemed, of hope or aim <br />She sate, from notice turning not away, <br />But on all proffered intercourse did lay <br />A weight of languid speech, or to the same <br />No sign of answer made by word or face: <br />Yet still her eyes retained their tropic fire, <br />That, burning independent of the mind, <br />Joined with the lustre of her rich attire <br />To mock the Outcast.--O ye Heavens, be kind! <br />And feel, thou Earth, for this afflicted Race!<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/september-1-1802/
