The Dray

Huge through the darkened street The Dray comes, rolling an uneven thunder Of wheels and trampling feet; The shaken windows stare in sleepy wonder. Now through an open space, Where loitering groups about the tavern's fume Show many a sullen face And brawling figure in the lighted gloom, It moves, a shadowy force Through misery triumphant: flushed, on high Guiding his easy course, A giant sits, with indolent soft eye. He turns not, that dim crowd Of listless forms beneath him to behold; Shawled women with head bowed Flitting in hasty stealth, and children old: Calm as some conqueror Rode through old Rome, nor heeded at his heel, 'Mid the proud spoils of war, What woeful captives thronged his chariot wheel.