Penitent! Penniless!
Where can she go?
Her poor heart is aching
With many a woe.
Repentant—though sinning:
Remorseful and sad,
She weeps in the moonlight
While others are glad.
Shrink not away from her,
Stained though she be:
She once, as the purest,
Was sinless and free:
And penitence bringeth
A shroud for her shame:
Hide it forgetfully;
Pity—nor blame.

Penniless! Penitent!
Gone every hope:
Warm lights are gleaming
From basement to cope.
Plenty surroundeth her:
Starving and stark,
Lonely she pleadeth
Out in the dark.
The cold moon above her,
The black stream below,
No friendly voice near her:
Where can she go?
Turned every face from her
Closed every door:
Plash in the moonlight!
She pleadeth no more.