  Round Charing Cross in carrion row The crowd press in; a sight to see; Their mouths agape, their eyes aglow, With morbid curiosity. Those twisted limbs, those bandaged faces! Humanity all broken down! The ghostly grim procession races: Hell's handicraft in London Town. The bestial throng with pampered eyes— Faces of goat or sheep or bull— All greedy with a glad surprise Of ghoulish horror drinking full. Heroic citizens, well nourished, Who feast your eyes:—What sight to see? By you the Coliseum flourished; You thronged, as now, round Calvary. |
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