Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful:
Past all dishonor,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.
Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
While wonderment guesses
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 one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?
Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
Oh! it was pitiful
Near a whole city full
Home she had none!
Sisterly, brotherly
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed:
Love by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.
When the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood with amazement
Houseless by night.
The bleak winds of March
Made her tremble and shiver
But not the dark arch,
Of the black flowing river.
Mad from life's history
Glad to death's mystery
Swift to be hurled—
Anywhere, anywhere,
Out of the world—
In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran.
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly
Young, and so fair!
Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,
smooth, and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!
Dreadfully staring
Through muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fixed on futurity,