AN EAST-END TRAGEDY.

You said that you would never wed:

“My love, my life's one work lie here,

‘ Mid crowded alleys, dank and drear,

Where all life's flower-petals are shed!”

You said.

I heard: I bowed to what I heard;

I bowed my head and worshipped you —

So brave, so beautiful, so true —

How could I doubt a single word

I heard?

My sweet, white lily! All the street,

As you passed by, grew clean again;

The fallen, blackened souls of men

Looked heavenward when men heard your feet,

My sweet.

But one came, dared to woo, and won —

He heard your vows, and laughed at them;

He plucked my lily from its stem —

Sacred to all men under sun,

But one!