Her pale, haggard face, so sad in repose,

Told tales of a life beclouded by woes;

Her small dimpled hands lay listless and cold

Across her fair breast, where sorrows untold

Had made her young heart in misery old.

Her poor glassy eyes, now death dimmed and blue,

Looked vacantly out, as if bidding adieu

To a world that had shunned her, to friends that denied

Love, kindness, and pity in self-righteous pride:

Who can she be, this fair one unknown,