The morning mists still haunt the stony street; br The northern summer air is shrill and cold; br And lo, the Hospital, grey, quiet, old, br Where Life and Death like friendly chafferers meet. br Thro' the loud spaciousness and draughty gloom br A small, strange child-so aged yet so young! - br Her little arm besplinted and beslung, br Precedes me gravely to the waiting-room. br I limp behind, my confidence all gone. br The grey-haired soldier-porter waves me on, br And on I crawl, and still my spirits fail: br A tragic meanness seems so to environ br These corridors and stairs of stone and iron, br Cold, naked, clean-half-workhouse and half-jail.