(Ah, well-a-day).
The old, old story of desire
Repeats itself anew.
(Ah, lack-a-day.)

When bugles blow the soldier flies -
Though bitter tears may fall
(Ah, lack-a-day).
A MOORISH CHILD WITH BLUE, BLUE EYES
PLAYS IN THE HAREM HALL.
(Ah, well-a-day.)



THE VOICE OF THE VOICELESS



I am the voice of the voiceless;
Through me the dumb shall speak;
Till the deaf world's ear be made to hear
The cry of the wordless weak.
From street, from cage, and from kennel,
From jungle and stall, the wail
Of my tortured kin proclaims the sin
Of the mighty against the frail.

I am a ray from the centre;
And I will feed God's spark,
Till a great light glows in the night and shows