the story of two lives.
21
She was an orphan, by the parish placed
With a bad mistress, artful, vile, unchaste,
Who had ill-treated, starved her, then had bid
Her do, with drunken oaths, what others did.
She had refused, had been thrust out, and now
She was so frightened, blushes dyed her brow.
She had a friend—far off—if she could reach
Her house she would be safe. With timid speech
She told me this, then pointed to her dress—
No bonnet—cloak—and she was penniless.
Her tears fell faster—"I must beg," she said;
"I know not where to-night to lay my head."
I gave her the poor trifle I had saved;
My shawl I gave her; I too long had braved,
More lightly clad, the winds, the rain, the night,
To fear them now. Her pure child's face shone bright
With joy—"I owe you more than life," she said.
"Tell me your name." I silent shook my head.
Then for a moment was that frank young mouth
Pressed close to mine. Oh God! how my lost youth
Rose from its tomb, as those fresh lips pressed mine!
I drank each kiss as dying men drink wine.
With a bad mistress, artful, vile, unchaste,
Who had ill-treated, starved her, then had bid
Her do, with drunken oaths, what others did.
She had refused, had been thrust out, and now
She was so frightened, blushes dyed her brow.
She had a friend—far off—if she could reach
Her house she would be safe. With timid speech
She told me this, then pointed to her dress—
No bonnet—cloak—and she was penniless.
Her tears fell faster—"I must beg," she said;
"I know not where to-night to lay my head."
I gave her the poor trifle I had saved;
My shawl I gave her; I too long had braved,
More lightly clad, the winds, the rain, the night,
To fear them now. Her pure child's face shone bright
With joy—"I owe you more than life," she said.
"Tell me your name." I silent shook my head.
Then for a moment was that frank young mouth
Pressed close to mine. Oh God! how my lost youth
Rose from its tomb, as those fresh lips pressed mine!
I drank each kiss as dying men drink wine.
