The Trap

She was taught desire in the street,         Not at the angels' feet.         By the good no word was said         Of the worth of the bridal bed.         The secret was learned from the vile,         Not from her mother's smile.         Home spoke not.    And the girl         Was caught in the public whirl.         Do you say "She gave consent:         Life drunk, she was content         With beasts that her fire could please?"         But she did not choose disease         Of mind and nerves and breath.         She was trapped to a slow, foul death.         The door was watched so well,         That the steep dark stair to hell         Was the only escaping way . . .         "She gave consent," you say?         Some think she was meek and good,         Only lost in the wood         Of youth, and deceived in man         When the hunger of sex began         That ties the husband and wife         To the end in a strong fond life.         Her captor, by chance was one         Of those whose passion was done,         A cold fierce worm of the sea         Enslaving for you and me.         The wages the poor must take         Have forced them to serve this snake.         Yea, half-paid girls must go         For bread to his pit below.         What hangman shall wait his host         Of butchers from coast to coast,         New York to the Golden Gate -         The merger of death and fate,         Lust-kings with a careful plan         Clean-cut, American?         In liberty's name we cry         For these women about to die.         O mothers who failed to tell         The mazes of heaven and hell,         Who failed to advise, implore         Your daughters at Love's strange door,         What will you do this day?         Your dear ones are hidden away,         As good as chained to the bed,         Hid like the mad, or the dead: -         The glories of endless years         Drowned in their harlot-tears:         The children they hoped to bear,         Grandchildren strong and fair,         The life for ages to be,         Cut off like a blasted tree,         Murdered in filth in a day,         Somehow, by the merchant gay!         In liberty's name we cry         For these women about to die.         What shall be said of a state         Where traps for the white brides wait?         Of sellers of drink who play         The game for the extra pay?         Of statesmen in league with all         Who hope for the girl-child's fall?         Of banks where hell's money is paid         And Pharisees all afraid         Of pandars that help them sin?         When will our wrath begin?