This woman seems in deep distress—distress which pierces to the core;”
So I stepped into the palace, with the view of getting solace,
For that creature whose deep sorrow my soft heart with anguish tore,
That shadow of an angel bright, for her countenance yet bore
Trace of beauty, now no more.
But the jingling of the glasses, and the glare of many gases,
Made me feel so very squeamish that I was almost forced to roar,
When my tongue its wonted action ceased, as if by some attraction,
So I stood a perfect dummy at this dreadful gin-house door,
Pointing to that weeping woman, whom no one would now adore;