Another comes — a girl-face, worn,
And of every good resolution shorn,—
She utters no word; but her eyes of blue
Are burning, piercing me through and through!
Yet another comes and takes Her place ——
I close my eyes lest I see HER face ——
For the flush of youth on the girlish brow
Is lost in the wanton woman now —
And I was to blame! God, let me forget!
And I wipe away the beads of sweat
That lie on my brow like blood-red rain ——
And I try to pray — but words are vain;—
For I know that the ghosts of my sins are here
To mock me at this, the end o’ th’ Year!