... “A brown-shouldered harlot leaned Half through a tavern window thick with wine. Some man had come behind her in the room And caught her by the arms, and she had turned With that coarse empty laugh on him.... ... And three hours afterwards, When she that I had run all risks to meet Laughed as I told you, my life burned to death Within me, for I thought it like the laugh Heard at the fair.... And all she might have changed to, or might change to, Seemed in that laugh.” Somewhat akin in spirit (though less dramatic in treatment), in that it deals with the problem of sexual love in its darkest form, is the rhymed monologue entitled “Jenny;” and put into the mouth of one who has followed, half in pity, half in curiosity, a beautiful courtesan to her home, and sits with her in the luxurious chamber which is the purchase of her shame. The poem is to some extent in obvious relation to Rossetti’s long contemplated but never completed picture, “Found;” but the latter shows the end of poor Jenny in after years,— “When, wealth and health slipped past, you stare Along the streets alone, and there, Round the long park, across the bridge, The cold lamps at the pavement’s edge, Wind on together and apart, A fiery serpent for your heart,”— whereas her visitor in the poem finds her in all her prime and pride, and asks,— “What has man done here? How atone Great God, for this which man has done? . . . . . . But if, as blindfold fates are tossed Through some one man this life be lost, Shall soul not somehow pay for soul?”