Ah Ling, The Leper

Up a dark and fetid alley, where the offal and the slime Of a brave and blusterous city met its misery and crime, In a hovel reeking pestilence, and noisome as the grave, Dwelt Ah Ling, the Chinese joiner, and the sweaters willing slave. Squatting down amongst the shavings, with his chisel and his plane, Through the long, hot days of striving, dead to pleasure and to pain, Like a creature barely human, very yellow, gaunt, and grim, Ah Ling laboured on, for pleasure spread no lures that tempted him. And the curious people, watching through the rotten wall at night, Saw his deaths face weirdly outlined in the candles feeble light; Saw him still intent upon his work, ill-omened and unclean, Planing, sawing, nailing, hewingjust a skin and bone machine. Neither kith nor kin the joiner had; perchance he nerved his hand With the treasured hope of seeing once again his native land As a Chinaman of fortune, and of finishing his life At his ease in China Proper, with a painted Chinese wife. But Ah Ling grew yet more grisly, and twas easy now to trace Signs of vice and fierce privations in his scarred and pitted face, With a dreadful something added. By this thing the truth was known, And his countrymen forsook him, and he lived and toiled alone. Still the work came in, and still he slaved and saw his earnings grow. Whos to trouble where the goods are made when buyers will not know? Gimcrack chairs and pretty nick-nacks from infected dens like this Go to furnish happy homes to-day where ignorance is bliss. Now the time was come when Ling might take his treasure up, and go To enjoy celestial comforts by the flowing Hoang Ho, But one day his shop was raided, and upon him fell the hand Of the Lawand death were better than the ruthless Laws command. Room for the leper, room! A thing of fear, Ah Ling was torn From his hovel and his labour and his cherished hopes, and borne To a home of untold terrors, where to life grim death is wed, And the quick behold and know the loathly horrors of the dead.