Classic Poem

He found her in the street one night She said:
" I sin to get my mother's daily bread;
I know no other way; I never learned
To cook or sew " — & deep his anger burned
That the child's shame should feed the mother's mouth,
And so, in pity of her piteous youth,
Her sixteen years made up of bitter nights,
And short days shorn of natural delights,
He took her home. Her pinched & pretty face
Wore, with the passing months, a graver grace,
A light as if of youth won back again
After long stress of peril & of pain,
Regenerate in love's sight. He taught her hands
All that a woman's household still commands,
Her puzzled eyes to read, her lips to speak
Gentlest words only, & her heart to seek
His trustfully, till she to him became
A daughter, & to hide her cast of shame
From the world's eye he called her Cynthia Grey,
Child of a friend who, dying far away
In tropic ardours, left the girl to him
And in the minds of both the past grew dim,
She dazzled with the dawn of hope, & he
Washing her white in pity's boundless sea,
Till both forgot that each of them had been
Led to the other by the hand of sin.

Scarce of this tranquil life five years were sped
When his sole nephew came to him & said,
" I love your friend's child, Cynthia; she will be
My wife if you are willing " — whereat he,
To whom the boy was dearer than a son,
Cursed in his heart the deed that he had done,
And, venting his self-anger on the head
He loved the best, with sudden violence said:
" No more of this, for it shall never be,
Though your entreaties storm me like the sea
Storming the shore. Why, there are fairer far
Than she is, for the asking. "
" Though there are, "
The nephew answered, " there are none for me.
Save this one woman only, & why not she? "

" Why not? Why not? The girl is scarce of age,
Lacks gold, & has no hope of heritage " —

" But I have both, " the lover answered; " find
Some better way than that to turn my mind
From loving Cynthia. "
Then the Uncle said,
" Now for your mother's sake, my sister dead,
Ask me no more. While I have breath of life,
I swear you shall not take the girl to wife! "

" God be my witness that I shall, " the lad
Replied half-smiling, & the look he had
Maddened the other, thinking that his race
Should bear the imprint of a harlot's face
In after years, & his dead sister's child
Rear children from a life-spring so defiled
With currents of vile blood without a name,
Fed from a shameless ancestry of shame,
And from his lips the sudden answer broke,
" Since on your head the lightning you invoke,
Listen — I found your Cynthia in the street,
Mixed with the mire that clung about my feet,
And in vain pity, snatched her from the slough,
Washing the mud from her smirched lips & brow;
But what she was, deeper than what she is,
Lives on, red-branded with corruption's kiss. "

But still the lover, though his lips had paled,
Stood resolute. " Perchance you had prevailed
Had I not loved her, but Love can still make whole
The broken body & the blasted soul. "

" What? Will you shelter with your mother's name
The forehead blazoned with the brand of shame?
What? Will you touch with consecrated love
The lips a hundred lips grew weary of
Ere yours caressed them? Shall your children's eyes
Taunt you with half-suspected prophecies
Of evil, & the patter of their feet
Remind you hers have wandered in the street? "

" Love is a god, & Love can make, " he said,
" New heavens & Earth, & Love can raise the dead
Face of lost innocence from charnel-caves
Of death & darkness; Love is a pool whose waves
Bring healing to the leprous limbs of sin,
And pure as snow are they that wash therein. "

And then the other, for a little space,
Was silent, till the lad's uplifted face
Of visionary triumph stung his pride,
And " take her then to be your wife, " he cried,
" (If even at this your love makes no demur)
Who was my mistress ere I rescued her! "

With lifted hand, as if to fend a blow
Too heavy to be borne, & head bent low,
The lover heard him, all the refluent blood
Back-ebbing to his heart — when there she stood,
Cynthia, her hand upon the door, her face
Paler than his, & for a moment's space
All three were speechless; then the girl began —

" Is there no mercy in the heart of man
That he should joy to trample in the dust
Those whom his brothers' hands have downward thrust?
Yet kinder those that bind us in the mire,
Than these who lead our groping footsteps higher,
Then fling us down — I never asked to be
Dressed in this robe of new-born purity
You mocked me with. God knows, until you came,
Though I went naked, that I felt no shame,
But you have taught me how to blush, & you
Have taught me how to hide my guilt from view,
And wear the mask of virtue, till I dreamed
That I had grown as holy as I seemed,
And now you teach me that the Christ, who died
To wash the world of sin, was crucified
For men, but not for women " —
then the door
Closed on her, & pale & speechless as before
The two men faced each other, till at last
Forth from his Uncle's face the nephew passed.

That evening Cynthia vanished. He who stood
Alone among the ruins of the good
That he had wrought from evil saw, aghast,
His empty life that fluttered in grief's blast
Like a forsaken nest. She came no more,
Nor did he seek her, though his heart was sore
And many a night he dreamed that she had come.
She came no more — but, to his desolate home
As he returned one night with laggard feet,
Shuddering he heard her laughter in the street.