Classic Poem

Long, long we sat, without one word;
Somewhere a clock boomed forth its chime.
I did not count its distant strokes,
I did not heed the hurrying time.

At last she stirred. I saw her lips
Part for an instant, and then close—
Red lips whose crimson made them seem
The painted wraiths of some dead rose.

Again they parted, and she spoke:
“I never knew a man before
Who had not told me his desire
The moment that I crossed his door.

“And yet.”—her tears fell like the rain—
“You have not claimed your old, grim right.
Ah! can it be you guess, strange friend,
The wonder you have wrought to-night?

“I am as others of my kind;
I fell—the worn-out tale of pain.
You knew me for a harlot—still
You snatched me from the wind and rain.

“You gave me bread, you gave me wine,
You let me sit before your fire—
I whom you found upon the streets,
A pallid Daughter of Desire!

“You pitied me—and that was all! …
Oh, would you guessed how my soul flew,
The instant that I read your heart,
And dared—to dream of loving you!

“Yes!—do not smile!—I dared to dream
The dream that every harlot kills,
Lest it should lift her to the heights,
Lift her to the exalted hills.

“We cannot love—save for an hour;
Then on to lesser loves we fare.
Each night, each week, each month, each year,
They dwindle, and we reap Despair.

“That is our dread—that we may love!
Our shame would drag a good man down
If he should ever deign to stoop,
To stoop, and crown us with a crown.”

She rose, and trembled toward the door;
The fire was low, and in the gloom
I only saw her eyes—strange stars
That wonderfully lit the room.

I followed her. “Girl! girl!” I cried,
For there was madness in my soul.
It was too late. … She closed the door,
And down the darkened stairway stole.