S. Wells (fl.1814)
On an Unhappy Woman of Pleasure
Pale roamer of the midnight hour! when blow
The cutting winds and beat the pouring rain,
Then I bethink on thee and all the pain
You oft endure. It is seldom thine to know
The look benignant: and but few bestow
The gentle smile which timely might restrain
Thy course licentious.--Thus from care and woe
With insults vile proceeds thy hard-earned gain.
Pale roamer, when I view thy haggard look,
Thy blue and quivering lip and sunken eye;
Hear thee accost each stranger passing by
In accents mild--to whom who thus forsook
Thee in thy hour of need, my heart has turned
And with a curse his unknown form I've spurned.