Death at home's sin-stained threshold; honour's fall
Dislodging from her throne love's household pet,
And wan-faced purity a tyrant's thrall,
With wild eyes sorrow-wet.

And unsexed women facing heated blasts
And Tophet fumes, and fluttering tongues of fire;
And virtue staked on most unholy casts,
And honour sold for hire:

Squadrons and troops of girls of brazen air,
Tramping the tainted city to and fro,
With feverish flauntings veiling chill despair
And deeply-centred woe.

So shape chased shape. I saw a neat-garbed nurse,
Wan with excessive work; and, bowed with toil,
A shop-girl sickly, of the primal curse
Each looked the helpless spoil.

Anon I saw a lady, at night's fall
Stiller than chiseled marble, standing there;
A daughter of compassion, slender, tall,
And delicately fair.

Her weariness with shame and with surprise
My spirit shocked: she turning on my face
The heavy glances of unrested eyes,
Spoke mildly in her place.