A line taken from the Oscar Wilde Poem ..."The Harlot's House".

E'er she'd dream of gent with truest intent
Yet none did step unto her hearth's cement  
Of a ******* she twas a common ****
A love of bliss could ne'er be by her side
She wished to become a ****** bride
Ordinary men of alley and of street
Had stripped her pristine heather neath sheet
Of a deep twine she's not have in a glut
The joys of sweet weather weren't bestowed
A beautiful love ne'er to be glowed
She sat alone with a constant wrenching
(A phantom lover to her breast) she'd claim
One who'd vow his fondness unto her name
In reverie the strumpet e'er pining