Poor, Withered Face, That Yet Was Once So Fair, Grown Ashen-Old In The Wild Fires Of Lust - Thy Star-Like Beauty, Dimm'D With Earthly Dust, Yet Breathing Of A Purer Native Air; - They Who Whilom, Cursed Vultures, Sought A Share Of Thy Dead Womanhood, Their Greed Unjust Have Satisfied, Have Stripped And Left Thee Bare. Still, Like A Leaf Warped By The Autumn Gust, And Driving To The End, Thou Wrapp'St In Flame And Perfume All Thy Hollow-Eyed Decay, Feigning On Those Gray Cheeks The Blush That Shame Took With Her When She Fled Long Since Away. Ah God! Rain Fire Upon This Foul-Souled City That Gives Such Death, And Spares Its Men, - For Pity!