Fallen
For want of bread to eat and clothes to wear—
Because work failed and streets were deep in snow,
And this meant food and fire—she fell so low,
Sinning for dear life’s sake, in sheer despair.
Or, because life was else so bald and bare,
The natural woman in her craved to know
The warmth of passion—as pale buds to blow
And feel the noonday sun and fertile air.
And who condemns? She who, for vulgar gain
And in cold blood, and not for love or need,
Has sold her body to more vile disgrace—
The prosperous matron, with her comely face—
Wife by the law, but prostitute in deed,
In whose gross wedlock womanhood is slain.
