Dead! Found in the desolate street
Where the drifting snow had silently piled
As if in pity, poor wandering child,
To mantle thee in its sheet.
Pale e'en as thy covering pure
Nor colder its touch than thy marble breast
And the heart beneath in a dreamless rest
That throbs to the tempest no more.
Still fresh in the halo of morn!
But love-blighted Innocence thrust away
Prone on the gulf of its bitterness lay
Aghast, unresisting, forlorn.
Alas! For thee, dissolute man,
Thy token her tapering finger bears;
How the glittering mock of the bauble glares,
Mid beauty so rigid and wan.
Couldst thou gaze on thy victim again
On the icy calm of her lineaments now,
This pallid eclipse of the queenly brow
Would smite thy voluptuous brain-
Yet naught but forgiveness there.
The dumb lips falter in suppliance meek,
While a ringlet stirs on the ivory cheek
As if with the breathing of prayer.
Ah! Who hath her history known?
The bleak world stifles the penitent's prayer;
She turns from its withering scorn to die
Homeless, unfriended, alone.
O thou, in whose sheltering side
Sweet refuge still for the lost remains
Cleanse in thy pity her glittering stains,
Her shame in thy chastity hide.