A South-Sea Islander.

Aloll in the warm clear water,
    On her back with languorous limbs,
She lies. The baby upon her breasts
    Paddles and falls and swims.

With half-closed eyes she smiles,
    Guarding it with her hands;
And the sob swells up in my heart -
    In my heart that understands.

Dear, in the English country,
The hatefullest land on earth,
The mothers are starved and the children die,
And death is better than birth!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Proem. "Outside London."

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

England.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Art.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Ireland.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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A Death At Sea. (Coral Sea, Australia.)

I.


Dead in the sheep-pen he lies,
    Wrapped in an old brown sail.
The smiling blue sea and the skies
    Know not sorrow nor wail.

Dragged up out of the hold,
    Dead on his last way home,
Worn-out, wizened, a Chinee old, -
    O he is safe - at home!

Brother, I stand not as these
    Staring upon you here.
One of earth's patient toilers at peace
    I see, I revere!


II.


In the warm cloudy night we go
    From the motionless ship;
Our lanterns feebly glow;
    Our oars drop and drip.

We land on the thin pale beach,
    The coral isle's round us;
A glade of driven sand we reach;
    Our burial ground's found us.

There we dig him a grave, jesting;
    We know not hi...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Hagar.

She went along the road,
    Her baby in her arms.
    The night and its alarms
Made deadlier her load.

Her shrunken breasts were dry;
    She felt the hunger bite.
    She lay down in the night,
She and the child, to die.

But it would wail, and wail,
    And wail. She crept away.
    She had no word to say,
Yet still she heard the wail.

She took a jagged stone;
    She wished it to be dead.
    She beat it on the head;
It only gave one moan.

She has no word to say;
    She sits there in the night.
    The east sky glints with light,
And it is Christmas Day!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To Japan.

Simple you were, and good. No kindlier heart
    Beat than the heart within your gentle breast.
    Labour you had, and happiness, and rest,
And were the maid of nations. Now you start
To feverish life, feeling the poisonous smart
    Upon your lips of harlot lips close-pressed,
    The lips of her who stands among the rest
With greasy righteous soul and rotten heart.
O sunrise land, O land of gentleness,
    What madness drives you to lust's dreadful bed?
O thrice accursed England, wretchedness
    For ever be on you, of whom 'tis said,
Prostitute plague-struck, that you catch and kiss
    Innocent lives to make them foully dead!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

The Tide River

    Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool;
    Cool and clear, cool and clear,
By shining shingle, and foaming wear;
Under the crag where the ouzel sings,
And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings,
    Undefiled, for the undefiled;
    Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

    Dank and foul, dank and foul,
    By the smoky town in its murky cowl;
    Foul and dank, foul and dank,
    By wharf and sewer and slimy bank;
Darker and darker the farther I go,
Baser and baser the richer I grow;
    Who dare sport with the sin-defiled?
    Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.

    Strong and free, strong and free,
    The floodgates are open, away to the sea.
    Free and strong, free and stron...

Charles Kingsley

Farewell To The Children.

In the early summer morning
    I stand and watch them come,
The children to the school-house;
    They chatter and laugh and hum.

The little boys with satchels
    Slung round them, and the girls
Each with hers swinging in her hand;
    I love their sunny curls.

I love to see them playing,
    Romping and shouting with glee,
The boys and girls together,
    Simple, fearless, free.

I love to see them marching
    In squads, in file, in line,
Advancing and retreating,
    Tramping, keeping time.

Sometimes a little lad
    With a bright brave face I'll see,
And a wistful yearning wonder
    Comes stealing over me.

For once I too had a darling;
    I dreamed what he should do,
And surely he'd have had, I...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To India.

O India, India, O my lovely land -
    At whose sweet throat the greedy English snake,
With fangs and lips that suck and never slake,
    Clings, while around thee, band by stifling band,
The loathsome shape twists, chaining foot and hand -
    O from this death-swoon must thou never wake,
    From limbs enfranchised these foul fetters to shake,
And, proud among the nations, to rise and stand?
Nay, but thine eyes, thine eyes wherein there stays
    The patience of that august faith that scorns
The tinsel creed of Christ, dream still and gaze
Where, not within the timeless East and haze,
    The haunt of that wan moon with fading horns,
    There breaks the first of Himalayan morns!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams