Chapter 36
recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Fighting the Traffic in Young Girls or War on the White Slave Trade by Ernest A. Bell. Chapter 36 Poem Why Are You Weeping, Sister? by Herbert Kaufman Why are you weeping, sister? Why are you sitting alone? I'm bent and grey, and I've lost my way. All my tomorrows were yesterday.
day i traded them off for a wanton's pay i bartered my graces for silk and laces my heart i sold for a pot of gold now i'm old why did you do it sister why did you sell your soul i was foolish and fair and my form was rare i longed for life's baubles and did not care when we know not the price to be paid we dare i listened when vanity lied to me and i ate the fruit of the bitter tree now i'm old why are you lonely sister where have your friends all gone friends i have none for i went the road where women must harvest what men have sowed and they never come back when the field is mowed they gave the lee of the cup to me but i was blind and would not see now i'm old where are your lovers sister where are your lovers now my lovers were many but all have run i betrayed and deceived them every one and they lived to learn what i had done
a poisoned draught from my lips they quaffed and i who knew it was poisoned laughed now i'm old will they not help you sister in the name of your common sin there is no debt for my lover is bought they paid my price for the things i brought i made the terms so they owe me naught i have no hold for twas i who sold one offered his heart but mine was cold now i'm old where is that lover sister he will come when he knows your need i broke his hope and i strained his pride i dragged him down in the under tide alone and forsaken by me he died the blood that he shed is on my head for all the while i knew that he bled now i'm old is there no mercy sister for the wanton whose course is spent when a woman is lovely the world will fawn but not when her beauty and grace are gone when her face is seamed and her limbs are drawn
i've had my day and i've had my play in my winter of loneliness i must pay now i'm old what of the morrow sister how shall the morrow be i must feed to the end upon remorse i must falter alone in my self-made course i must stagger alone with my self-made cross for i bartered my graces for silks and laces my heart i sold for a pot of gold now i'm old chapter thirty six read by alan mapstone
