A Contrast
By Laura Simmons
Across the gloom a shadow flits; I glimpse a sodden face
Wherein the years of sin and care, and toil have left their trace.
A wanton laugh;—I mark no more, for yonder in the glow
One waiteth me—my love! my star! with welcoming, I know.
Tender and fine is she, withal so stately sweet and fair
My grateful heart thrills thanks to heaven to see her standing there.
If this be woman, pure, benign—man’s blessed beacon light—
Then—Christ! What that poor outcast soul that passed me in the night?