Only a woman, shrivelled and old,
The prey of the winds, and the prey of the cold!
Cheeks that are shrunken,
Eyes that are sunken.
Lips that were never o'erbold;
Only a woman, forsaken and poor,
Asking an alms at the bronze church-door.
Hark to the organ! roll upon roll
The waves of its music go over the soul!
Silks rustle past her
Thicker and faster;
The great bell ceases its toll.
Fain would she enter, but not for the poor
Swingeth wide open the bronze church-door.
Only a woman — waiting alone.
Icily cold on an ice-cold throne.
What do they care for her.
Mumbling a prayer for her,
Giving not bread but a stone.
Under gold laces their haughty hearts beat.
Mocking the woes of their kin in the street.
Only a woman! In the older days
Hope carolled to her happiest lays;
Somebody missed her,
Somebody kissed her,
Somebody crowned her with praise;
Somebody faced up the battles of life.
Strong for her sake who was mother or wife.
Somebody lies with a tress of her hair
Light on his heart where the death-shadows are;
Somebody waits for her.
Opening the gates for her,
Giving delight for despair.
Only a woman — nevermore poor —
Dead in the snow at the bronze church-door.
