Get Your Premium Membership

The Palace

 Grimy men with picks and shovels
 Who in darkness sweat unseen,
Climb from out your lousy hovels,
 Build a palace for the Queen;
Praise the powers that be for giving
 You a chance to make a living.

Yet it would be better far
 Could you build with cosy lure
Skyey tenements where are
 Rabbit-warrens of the poor;
With a hope bright as a gem
 Some day you might live in them.

Could the Queen just say: 'A score
 Of rich palaces have I.
Do not make me any more,--
 Raise a hostel heaven-high;
House the hundreds who have need,
 To their misery give heed.'

Could she make this gesture fine
 To the pit where labour grovels,
Mother hearts would cease to pine,
 Weary men would wave their shovels.
All would cry with hope serene:
 'Little children, bless the Queen!'






Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry