No More Learning

And what have I obtained--
What good the gift of mortal life,
That prize so rarely gained,[138]

If nought my chilly back protects
But one thin grass-cloth coat,
In tatters hanging like the weeds
That on the billows float--

If here in smoke-stained,           hut,
Upon the bare cold ground,
I make my wretched bed of straw,
And hear the mournful sound--

Hear how mine aged parents groan,
And wife and children cry,
Father and mother, children, wife,
Huddling in misery--

If in the rice-pan, nigh forgot,
The spider hangs its nest,[139]
And from the hearth no smoke goes up
Where all is so unblest?