Embankment at Night: Charity

By the river In the black wet night as the furtive rain slinks down, Dropping and starting from sleep Alone on a seat A woman crouches.

I must go back to her.

I want to give her Some money. Her hand slips out of the breast of her gown Asleep. My fingers creep Carefully over the sweet Thumb-mound, into the palm's deep pouches.

So, the gift!

God, how she starts! And looks at me, and looks in the palm of her hand! And again at me! I turn and run Down the Embankment, run for my life.

But why?--why?

Because of my heart's Beating like sobs, I come to myself, and stand In the street spilled over splendidly With wet, flat lights. What I've done I know not, my soul is in strife.

The touch was on the quick. I want to forget.