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Samuel Taylor Coleridge - To An Unfortunate Woman At The Theatre
Work rating: Low

Maiden, that with sullen brow
  Sitt`st behind those virgins gay,
Like a scorched and mildew`d bough,
  Leafless mid the blooms of May.

Him who lured thee and forsook,
  Oft I watch`d with angry gaze,
Fearful saw his pleading look,
  Anxious heard his fervid phrase.

Soft the glances of the youth,
  Soft his speech, and soft his sigh;
But no sound like simple truth,
  But no true love in his eye.

Loathing thy polluted lot,
  Hie thee, maiden, hie thee hence!
Seek thy weeping mother`s cot,
  With a wiser innocence.

Thou hast known deceit and folly,
  Thou hast felt that vice is woe;
With a musing melancholy,
  Inly armed, go, maiden! go.

Mother, sage of self dominion,
  Firm thy steps, O melancholy!
The strongest plume in wisdom`s pinion
  Is the memory of past folly.

Mute the sky-lark and forlorn
  While she moults the firstling plumes,
That had skimm`d the tender corn,
  Or the bean-field`s odorous blooms.

Soon with renovated wing,
  Shall she dare a loftier flight,
Upward to the day-star spring,
  And embathe in heavenly light.
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