_The Cripple._

I met once, in a country lane, A little cripple, pale and thin, Who from my presence sought again The shadows she had hidden in.

Her wasted cheeks the sunset skies Had hallowed with their fading glow; And in her large and lustrous eyes There dwelt a child’s unuttered woe.

She crept into the autumn wood, The parted bushes closed behind; Poor little heart, I understood The shameless shame that filled her mind.

I understood, and loved her well For one sad face I loved of yore,-- And down the lane the dead leaves fell, Like dreams that pass for evermore.