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.