Poems: Old and New

by Frederick George Scott


 

THE CRIPPLE.


 

I MET once, in a country lane,
    A little cripple, pale and thin,
Who from my presence sought again
    The shadows she had hidden in.

Her wasted cheeks the sunset skies

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   Had hallowed with their fading glow;
And in her large and lustrous eyes
    There dwelt a child’s unuttered woe.

She crept into the autumn wood,
    The parted bushes closed behind;

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Poor little heart, I understood
   The shameless shame that filled her mind.

I understood, and loved her well
   For one sad face I loved of yore,—
And down the lane the dead leaves fell,

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   Like dreams that pass for evermore. [Page 96]