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1858–1924

AN EAST-END TRAGEDY.

Edith Nesbit

You said that you would never wed: “My love, my life's one work lie here, ‘ Mid crowded alleys, dank and drear, Where all life's flower-petals are shed!”

You said. I heard: I bowed to what I heard; I bowed my head and worshipped you — So brave, so beautiful, so true —

How could I doubt a single word I heard? My sweet, white lily! All the street, As you passed by, grew clean again;

The fallen, blackened souls of men Looked heavenward when men heard your feet, My sweet. But one came, dared to woo, and won —

He heard your vows, and laughed at them; He plucked my lily from its stem — Sacred to all men under sun, But one!

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AN EAST-END TRAGEDY. · Edith Nesbit · Poetry Cove