| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895. |
| |
| Her Pity |
| | | Philip Bourke Marston (1850–87) |
| |
| |
| THIS is the room to which she came that day,— | |
| Came when the dusk was falling cold and gray,— | |
| Came with soft step, in delicate array, | |
| |
| And sat beside me in the firelight there; | |
| And, like a rose of perfume rich and rare, | 5 |
| Thrill’d with her sweetness the environing air. | |
| |
| We heard the grind of traffic in the street, | |
| The clamorous calls, the beat of passing feet, | |
| The wail of bells that in the twilight meet. | |
| |
| Then I knelt down, and dar’d to touch her hand,— | 10 |
| Those slender fingers, and the shining band | |
| Of happy gold wherewith her wrist was spann’d. | |
| |
| Her radiant beauty made my heart rejoice; | |
| And then she spoke, and her low, pitying voice | |
| Was like the soft, pathetic, tender noise | 15 |
| |
| Of winds that come before a summer rain: | |
| Once leap’d the blood in every clamorous vein; | |
| Once leap’d my heart, then, dumb, stood still again. | |
| |
|
|
|
