My eyes are cold, and brazen are my lips,
My smile is bold, but sometimes longing slips
The leash of circumstance, and wells to greet
On Granville Street, or Robson Street,
The ghosts of yesterday on Pender Street.
The yesters when my maiden scorn descried
The Magdalen, and drew my skirts aside
From her with whom tonight I share the beat
From Georgia Street to Hastings Street,
'Neath Neon moons in fogs of Granville Street.
Short months ago and Hope had power to thrill,
But each curt "No" ravished the wasting will;
"We need no help"; but yet a girl must eat
On Homer Street, on Nelson Street,
Must break the bread of shame on Hastings Street.
The end I dream -- beneath the wharfing piles
Gold hair agleam, and lips too slack for smiles;
Hands emptied of caresses, dropsied feet--
I dared it once, but youth was sweet;
Life's tang has sweetness still on Water Street!
My weird I dree, but fain would I divine
By whose decree I lay before the swine
Pearls now so lustreless, but once so sweet!
Did God or Man pledge rebel feet
To traffic husks of love on Pender Street?
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