Insult Not the Fallen by Victor Hugo

[MikeLigalig.com]

INSULT NOT THE FALLEN by Victor Hugo
     ("Oh! n'insultez jamais une femme qui tombe.")

     {XIV., Sept. 6, 1835.}
     I tell you, hush! no word of sneering scornâ€"
       True, fallen; but God knows how deep her sorrow.
     Poor girl! too many like her only born
       To love one dayâ€"to sinâ€"and die the morrow.
     What know you of her struggles or her grief?
       Or what wild storms of want and woe and pain
     Tore down her soul from honor? As a leaf
       From autumn branches, or a drop of rain
     That hung in frailest splendor from a boughâ€"
       Bright, glistening in the sunlight of God's dayâ€"
     So had she clung to virtue once. But nowâ€"
       See Heaven's clear pearl polluted with earth's clay!
     The sin is yoursâ€"with your accursed goldâ€"
       Man's wealth is masterâ€"woman's soul the slave!
     Some purest water still the mire may hold.
       Is there no hope for herâ€"no power to save?
     Yea, once again to draw up from the clay
       The fallen raindrop, till it shine above,
     Or save a fallen soul, needs but one ray
       Of Heaven's sunshine, or of human love.

     W.C.K. WILDE.

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