Page:Carroll - Phantasmagoria and other poems (1869).djvu/198

186 The stifled sob rings strangely on mine ears,
 * Wrung from the depth of sin's despair:

And still she bathes the sacred feet with tears,
 * And wipes them with her hair.

scorned not then the simple loving deed
 * Of her, the lowest and the last;

Then scorn not thou, but use with earnest heed
 * This relic of the past.

The eyes that loved it once no longer wake:
 * So lay it by with reverent care—

So touch it tenderly for sorrow's sake—
 * It is a woman's hair.