Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/91

Rh A woman cowering like a dog, with white and haggard face, A broken creature, bent of spine, a daughter of Despair. She looked and looked, as to her breast she held some withered bloom; “Too late! Too late!… they all are dead and gone,” I heard her say. And once again her weary eyes went round and round the room; “Not one of all I used to know…” she turned to go away… But quick I saw the old man start: “Ah no!” he cried, “not all. Oh Marie Toro, queen of queens, don’t you remember Paul?”

“Oh Marie, Marie Toro, in my garret next the sky, Where many a day and night I’ve crouched with not a crust to eat, A picture hangs upon the wall a fortune couldn’t buy, A portrait of a girl whose face is pure and angel-sweet.” Sadly the woman looked at him: “Alas! it’s true,” she said; “That little maid, I knew her once. It’s long ago–she's dead.” He went to her; he laid his hand upon her wasted arm: “Oh, Marie Toro, come with me, though poor and sick am I.