Piccadilly

Beautiful, tragical faces— Ye that were whole, and are so sunken; And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved, That are so sodden and drunken,                     Who hath forgotten you? O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many! The crass, the coarse, the brazen, God knows I cannot pity them, perhaps, as I should do; But oh, ye delicate, wistful faces,                     Who hath forgotten you?