The Bridge of Sighs

One more Unfortunate,   
  Weary of breath,   
Rashly importunate,   
  Gone to her death!   
  
Take her up tenderly,         
  Lift her with care;   
Fashion'd so slenderly   
  Young, and so fair!   
  
Look at her garments   
Clinging like cerements;   
Whilst the wave constantly   
  Drips from her clothing;   
Take her up instantly,   
  Loving, not loathing.   
  
Touch her not scornfully;   
Think of her mournfully,   
  Gently and humanly;   
Not of the stains of her,   
All that remains of her   
  Now is pure womanly.   
  
Make no deep scrutiny   
Into her mutiny   
  Rash and undutiful:   
Past all dishonour,   
Death has left on her   
  Only the beautiful.   
  
Still, for all slips of hers,   
  One of Eve's family—   
Wipe those poor lips of hers   
  Oozing so clammily.   
  
Loop up her tresses   
  Escaped from the comb,   
Her fair auburn tresses;   
Whilst wonderment guesses   
  Where was her home?   
  
Who was her father?   
  Who was her mother?   
Had she a sister?   
  Had she a brother?   
Or was there a dearer one   
Still, and a nearer one   
  Yet, than all other?   
  
Alas! for the rarity   
Of Christian charity   
  Under the sun!   
O, it was pitiful!   
Near a whole city full,   
  Home she had none.   
  
Sisterly, brotherly,   
Fatherly, motherly   
  Feelings had changed:   
Love, by harsh evidence,   
Thrown from its eminence;   
Even God's providence   
  Seeming estranged.   
  
Where the lamps quiver   
So far in the river,   
  With many a light   
From window and casement,   
From garret to basement,   
She stood, with amazement,   
  Houseless by night.   
  
The bleak wind of March   
  Made her tremble and shiver;   
But not the dark arch,   
Or the black flowing river:   
Mad from life's history,   
Glad to death's mystery,   
  Swift to be hurl'd—   
Anywhere, anywhere   
  Out of the world!   
  
In she plunged boldly—   
No matter how coldly   
  The rough river ran—   
Over the brink of it,   
Picture it—think of it,   
  Dissolute Man!   
Lave in it, drink of it,   
  Then, if you can!   
  
Take her up tenderly,   
  Lift her with care;   
Fashion'd so slenderly,   
  Young, and so fair!   
  
Ere her limbs frigidly   
Stiffen too rigidly,   
  Decently, kindly,   
Smooth and compose them;   
And her eyes, close them,   
  Staring so blindly!   
  
Dreadfully staring   
  Thro' muddy impurity,   
As when with the daring   
Last look of despairing   
  Fix'd on futurity.   
  
Perishing gloomily,   
Spurr'd by contumely,   
Cold inhumanity,   
Burning insanity,   
  Into her rest.—   
Cross her hands humbly  
As if praying dumbly,   
  Over her breast!   
  
Owning her weakness,   
  Her evil behaviour,   
And leaving, with meekness,  
  Her sins to her Saviour!