Is here no innocence o’erthrown, no wrecked
     sweet maidenhood,
No sense of loss, like heavy stone, to make her
     doubt all good? 
Are here no women’s ruined charms, no dead
     and withering breasts? 
Are here no hapless, vacant arms, which
     should lull babes to rest?

And what are you, who at her gird, and deem
     yourselves unstained;
Do you forget your black false word, the righteous
     act disdain,
Your lust of power, the debtors tears, cold
     hunger’s starving cries,
And all the evil of your years, that clamors
     to the skies!

Your horror is a vail to wear and cover o’er
     your deeds;
Your wrongs are pointed at you there, though
     none your presence heeds. 
Your vileness would itself deny in falsest hate
     of hers;
Gaze at yourself with inward eye, you whited
     sepulchers!

Repent!  Your vanity betrays, and wrenches
     reason strong,
Until it wraps the truth to ways which shape
     a right of wrong;
But every sin is still a sin; and if your hands
     be shriven,
Her heart is no more black within, and she
     shall be forgiven.

You ask not where those siren lips learned
     their unworthy skill,
Nor reck of how shame’s black eclipse obscured
     her purer will. 
You think not whence fair thoughts like
     flowers gave room to passions low;
You know not of her girlhood’s hours; you
    do not care to know.

Nay!  But the truth cries for the light, and
    struggles to be heard;
The story of her bruise and blight shall out
    in burning word—­
Yours was the power which crushed that
    grace and gave it to despair,
And the mask of beauty on that face, your
    hands have painted there!

She was the temple of your lust, the altar of
    your greed;
The sacrifice of faith and trust you made with
    careful heed. 
She was the price of pleasure’s worth, the
    weight against your gold,
Where love and truth repine in dearth, and all
    is bought and sold.

And will you loathe your work at last, and
    spurn her with disgust? 
And shall your pride blot out the past and
    hide her murdered trust? 
And will you brand upon her brow the deeds
    which she doth do? 
Speak; Will you dare to hate her now, who
    weeps, and pardons you?

Nay, more scoff to see her sink, nor laugh
    upon her tears;
You shall not hand hate’s baneful drink, and
    mock her with your jeers. 
Bow down and hide your head for shame, and
    for your acts atone,
Accept your guilt; abide your blame; nor cast
    a single stone.

And crimson sin shall balance sin, and none
    shall be denied,
Till every heart is soft within and humbled
    in its pride. 
And each with each shall equal stand, and all
    be one in worth,
Till every hand shall clasp a hand and love
   shall fill the earth.