THE LITTLE HALF-SOVEREIGN 
 
RED is the angry sunset, 
Murk is the even grey, 
Heavy the clouds that hover 
Over our Hell to-day. 
 
“ Say, in our dark Gomorrah, 
Lord, can an angel find 
Fifty, but fifty, righteous— 
Body—I say not Mind.” 
 
Sadly the angel turneth— 
“ Stay, ere thou fleest, stay ; 
Canst thou not find me twenty ? ” 
“ Nay ” is the answer, “ nay.” 
 
“ Are there not ten, bright spirit, 
Hidden, nor quickly seen, 
Somewhere in Hell’s dark alleys, 
Somewhere in Walham Green ? 
 
“ Speak, for I see thy forehead 
Sadden in dark denial, 
Is there not one that standeth 
Tempter and longsome trial ? 
 
I5