Poems (Truesdell)/Lines addressed to a Stranger whom I met on the Cabs

by Helen Truesdell

LINES

ADDRESSED TO A STRANGER WHOM I MET ON THE CABS.

by request.

'Mid careless brows, and thoughtless ones,
 And some 't were full of care;
Some dark, as 'neath an Indian clime,
 Some lovely, young and fair;

Some bound unto a happy home,
 With wife and children dear;
Others, deep bearing in their hearts,
 The record of despair;

I noted thee, amid the crowd—
 With them, but of them not;
Nor time nor distance can efface,
 Or from my memory blot.

Thy sable robe, thy saddened brow,
 Thy sweet, though pensive, smile,—
Manners of winning tenderness,
 That spoke thee free from guile.

Genius, proud genius, sat enthroned
 Upon thy woman's brow;
I have thy picture in my mind,—
 I'm gazing on it now.

There is a sympathy of soul,
 That draws us to our kind;
'Tis not in words, or looks, or deeds,
 'T is mind, embracing mind.

A deeper sympathy is ours;
 For sorrow's saddening sway
Has swept across our pathways both,
 With many a chilling ray.

Yet still a tie to thee remains;
 A daughter young and fair,
Nestles, as with an angel's wing,
 And stays thy passage here.

But lonely is the stranger's heart,—
 And lonely must she be,
Uncheered by all, save friendship's smiles,
 And these she asks of thee!