Samuel Taylor Coleridge — To an Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre

Maiden, that with sullen brow        &nbspSitt'st behind those virgins gay, Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough,        &nbspLeafless 'mid the blooms of May! Him who lur'd thee and forsook,        &nbspOft I watch'd with angry gaze, Fearful saw his pleading look,        &nbspAnxious heard his fervid phrase. Soft the glances of the Youth,        &nbspSoft his speech, and soft his sigh; But no sound like simple Truth,        &nbspBut no true love in his eye. Loathing thy polluted lot,        &nbspHie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence! Seek thy weeping Mother's cot,        &nbspWith a wiser innocence. Thou hast known deceit and folly,        &nbspThou hast felt that Vice is woe: With a musing melancholy        &nbspInly arm'd, go, Maiden! go. Mother sage of Self-dominion,        &nbspFirm thy steps, O Melancholy! The strongest plume in Wisdom's pinion        &nbspIs the memory of past folly. Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,        &nbspWhile she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn,        &nbspOr the beanfield's odorous blooms. Soon with renovated wing        &nbspShall she dare a loftier flight, Upward to the Day-Star spring,        &nbspAnd embathe in heavenly light.