A Face In The Street.

Poor, withered face, that yet was once so fair, Grown ashen-old in the wild fires of lust— Thy star-like beauty, dimm'd with earthly dust, Yet breathing of a purer native air;— They who whilom, cursed vultures, sought a share Of thy dead womanhood, their greed unjust Have satisfied, have stripped and left thee bare. Still, like a leaf warped by the autumn gust, And driving to the end, thou wrapp'st in flame And perfume all thy hollow-eyed decay, Feigning on those gray cheeks the blush that Shame Took with her when she fled long since away. Ah God! rain fire upon this foul-souled city That gives such death, and spares its men,—for pity!