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...PARAGRAPHS: 15 by HAYDEN CARRUTH AFTER WRITING A POEM by DAVID IGNATOW LETHE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AN EXPLANATION by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: PENNIWIT, THE ARTIST by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |