{"id":680,"date":"2016-10-06T14:06:42","date_gmt":"2016-10-06T14:06:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/englishlitvictorianmodern\/?post_type=chapter&p=680"},"modified":"2016-10-06T14:06:43","modified_gmt":"2016-10-06T14:06:43","slug":"additional-poems","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-englishlitvictorianmodern\/chapter\/additional-poems\/","title":{"raw":"[Additional Poems]","rendered":"[Additional Poems]"},"content":{"raw":"

XVIII<\/h1>\n

[Additional Poems<\/em>]<\/h1>\nOh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?\nAnd what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?\nAnd wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?\nOh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.\n\n'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;\nIn the good old time 'twas hanging for the colour that it is;\nThough hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair\nFor the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.\n\nOh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid\nTo hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;\nBut they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare,\nAnd they're haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.\n\nNow 'tis oakum[footnote]\u201cPrisoners sentenced to hard labour had to shred jute, a coarse fiber mixed with tar to make oakum, used for caulking wooden ships. The task bloodied their fingers\u201d [S.Barnet, Literature for Composition<\/i>, 8th ed., 1325].[\/footnote]\u00a0for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet\nAnd the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,\nAnd between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare\nHe can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.\n\n\u2014 1937","rendered":"

XVIII<\/h1>\n

[Additional Poems<\/em>]<\/h1>\n

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
\nAnd what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
\nAnd wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
\nOh they’re taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.<\/p>\n

‘Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
\nIn the good old time ’twas hanging for the colour that it is;
\nThough hanging isn’t bad enough and flaying would be fair
\nFor the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.<\/p>\n

Oh a deal of pains he’s taken and a pretty price he’s paid
\nTo hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
\nBut they’ve pulled the beggar’s hat off for the world to see and stare,
\nAnd they’re haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.<\/p>\n

Now ’tis oakum[1]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet
\nAnd the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
\nAnd between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
\nHe can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.<\/p>\n

\u2014 1937<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t

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Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t
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