The Bridge of Sighs
One more
Weary of
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly;
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Look at her
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.
Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her —All that remains of
Now is pure womanly.
Make no deep
Into her
Rash and undutiful:
Past all dishonour,
Death has left on
Only the beautiful.
Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family—Wipe those poor lips of
Oozing so clammily.
Loop up her
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst wonderment
Where was her home?
Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer
Still, and a nearer
Yet, than all other?
Alas! for the
Of Christian
Under the Sun!
O! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.
Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly,
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's
Seemed estranged.
Where the lamps
So far in the river,
With many a
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.
The bleak wind of
Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's
Swift to be hurl'd—Anywhere,
Out of the world!
In she plunged boldly,
No matter how
The rough river ran,
Over the brink of it,—Picture it, think of it,
Dissolute Man!
Lave in it, drink in it,
Then, if you can!
Ere her limbs
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,
Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!
Dreadfully
Thro' muddy impurity,
As when with the
Last look of
Fix'd on futurity.
Perishing gloomily,
Spurr'd by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest.—Cross her hands
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!
Thomas Hood
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