Classic Poem

At evening in the peaceful grove,
And in the forest dim,
Where every nook is light with love,
And every sound a hymn,
The gentle doves, the tender doves,
Come flying home to rest
Each happy little head upon
Another happy breast.

At evening on the city pave,
And in the city street,
With footsteps leading to the grave,
And to the winding-sheet,
The poor lost doves, the storm-toss'd doves,
The fallen sisters come,
Whose lives are lame, whose souls are shame,
Alas, who have no home!