Outcast Poem by Ada Cambridge

Perchance for dear Life's sake - and life is sweet -
When work had failed and roads were deep in snow,
And this meant food and fire, she fell so low -
That painted creature of the midnight street.
Perchance that other, with the shoeless feet,
Was Nature's victim, too untaught to know
That all live buds are not allowed to blow -
Too starved and passion-blind to be discreet.

And their accuser? She within the fold
That walks in light, bejewelled and belaced,
Who in cold blood, and not for love or need,
Sold the white flower of womanhood for gold;
The wedded harlot, rich and undisgraced,
The viler prostitute in mind and deed.