INTO the staring street She goes on her nightly round, With weary and tireless feet Over the wretched ground. A thing that man never spurns, A thing that all men despise; Into her soul there burns The street with its pitiless eyes. She needs no charm or wile, She carries no beauty or power, But a tawdry and casual smile For a tawdry and casual hour. The street with its pitiless eyes Follows wherever she lurks, But she is hardened and wise— She rattles her bracelets and smirks... She goes with her sordid array, Luring, without a lure; She is man's hunger and prey— His lust and its hideous cure. All that she knows are the lies, The evil, the squalor, the scars; The street with its pitiless eyes, The night with its pitiless stars. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALMSWOMEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SONNET TO GEORGE SAND: 1. A RECOGNITION by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ON THE DEATH OF MR. PURCELL by JOHN DRYDEN EPITAPH by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 16. TO CALEB HARDINGE, M.D. by MARK AKENSIDE THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. DIET by JOHN ARMSTRONG THE WORLD AND THE QUIETEST by MATTHEW ARNOLD |