And ere the smoke cleared from the room
Another soul groped through the gloom.
With fleeting glance the policemen came
Looked through her purse, took down her name;
Reporters never wondered why
Or reasoned how she came to die.
In silent morgue, somber and drab—
With folded hands, on sheeted slab—
No mourners crowded ’round her bier
To say a prayer or shed a tear.