I know not whether Laws be right,                  Or whether Laws be wrong;
               All that we know who lie in
                 Is that the wall is strong;
               And that each day is like a year,
                 A year whose days are long.
 
               But this I know, that every Law
                 That men have made for Man,
               Since first Man took his brother's life,
                 And the sad world began,
               But straws the wheat and saves the
                 With a most evil fan.
 
               This too I know—and wise it were
                 If each could know the same—
               That every prison that men build
                 Is built with bricks of shame,
               And bound with bars lest Christ should see
                 How men their brothers .
 
               With bars they the gracious moon,
                 And blind the goodly sun:
               And they do well to hide their Hell,
                 For in it things are done
               That Son of God nor son of Man
                 Ever should look upon!
 
               The deeds like poison weeds
                 Bloom well in prison-air:
               It is only what is good in Man
                 That wastes and there:
               Pale keeps the heavy gate,
                 And the Warder is Despair
 
               For they starve the little frightened child
                 Till it weeps both night and day:
               And they the weak, and flog the fool,
                 And the old and grey,
               And some grow mad, and all grow bad,
               And none a word may say.
 
               Each narrow cell in which we dwell
                 Is a and dark latrine,
               And the fetid breath of living Death
                 Chokes up each grated screen,
               And all, but , is turned to dust
                 In Humanity's machine.
 
               The water that we drink
                 Creeps with a slime,
               And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
                 Is full of chalk and lime,
               And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
                 Wild-eyed and cries to Time.
 
               But though lean Hunger and green Thirst
                 Like asp with fight,
               We have little care of prison fare,
            &nb............