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!