But sadder the new ones:
The new huts are pretty,
But they are the token
Of heartbreaking ruin.[8]

As morning sets in
They begin to meet people,
But mostly small people:
Their brethren, the peasants, 50
And soldiers and waggoners,
Workmen and beggars.
The soldiers and beggars
They pass without speaking.
Not asking if happy
Or grievous their lot:
The soldier, we know,
Shaves his beard with a gimlet,
Has nothing but smoke
In the winter to warm him,-- 60
What joy can be his?

As evening is falling
Appears on the high-road
A pope in his cart.
The peasants uncover
Their heads, and draw up
In a line on the roadway,
Thus barring the passage
In front of the gelding.
The pope raised his head, 70