Page:The ascent of man by Blind, Mathilde.djvu/114

 Rounded cheeks the velvet bloom of roses,
 * Taper necks the rain-washed lily's hue.

But a rustic blossom! Love and duty
 * Bound up in a child whom hunger slays!

Ah! but one thing still is left her—beauty
 * Fresh, untarnished yet—and beauty pays.

Beauty keeps her child alive a little,
 * Then it dies—her woman's love with it—

Beauty's brilliant sceptre, ah, how brittle,
 * Drags her daily deeper down the pit.

Ruin closes o'er her—hideous, nameless;
 * Each fresh morning marks a deeper fall;

Till at twenty—callous, cankered, shameless,
 * She lies dying at the hospital.

Drink, more drink, she calls for—her harsh laughter
 * Grates upon the meekly praying nurse,

Eloquent about her soul's hereafter:
 * "Souls be blowed!" she sings out with a curse.