A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP

A dusty, musty little shop set in a dingy street,

A doorsill old and scarred and worn by many tired feet,

A row of cases, vaguely glassed, a safe against the wall,

And, oh, the ache of many hearts — the fabric of it all!

A violin with broken strings that fingers have caressed,

A diamond-set betrothal ring that lover's lips have pressed,

A high shell comb, a spangled fan, a filmy bit of lace,

A heart-shaped locket, ribbon-tied, that frames a laughing face.

A pair of blankets folded up, an overcoat, a shawl,

A tall old clock that might have chimed in some wainscoted hall,

And in the farthest corner, where the purple shadows lie,

The echo of a woman's sob, the phantom of a sigh.

Ah, wedding-rings — a score of them — not many of them new,

A grim revolver laid beside a baby's tiny shoe,

A satin coat, a ragged gown, a gold-clasped book of verse,

A necklace of bedraggled pearls, an empty silver purse.

A dreary weary little shop set in a sunless place.

A little shop where love has met with sorrow and disgrace....

A row of cases, double-locked, a safe against the wall;

And, oh, the ache of countless hearts that lies behind it all!