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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Honour Dishonoured
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Honoured I lived e`erwhile with honoured men
 In opulent state. My table nightly spread
 Found guests of worth, peer, priest and citizen,
 And poet crowned, and beauty garlanded.
 Nor these alone, for hunger too I fed,
 And many a lean tramp and sad Magdalen
 Passed from my doors less hard for sake of bread.
 Whom grudged I ever purse or hand or pen?

 To--night, unwelcomed at these gates of woe
 I stand with churls, and there is none to greet
 My weariness with smile or courtly show
 Nor, though I hunger long, to bring me meat.
 God! what a little accident of gold
 Fences our weakness from the wolves of old!
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