COME hither, child, from the muddy street,
Dazzling in beauty, to fade so fleet:
Lean thy head on thy rounded arm;
Fear no longer the world's alarm;
Cast thine eyes on the picture there;
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Toss back thy burden of glossy hair;
Part thy lips in a sorrowful peace,
As if to welcome thy soul's release.
What Magdalen e'er looked half so sad
For a love which the hypocrite world calls bad!
Sit on that chair, thy draperies thrown
O'er the only treasures thou call'st thine own;
Cast down thine eyes, let their glances rest
On the half-hidden charms of thy budding breast;
Fold thine arms with humble air;
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