Classic Poem

As she scrambled down from the transport's deck,
Her figure parodied grace;
Eighteen at the most and a physical wreck,
Yet she had an angel's face!
From head to foot
Clung dirt like soot —
There was dirt on her angel's face.
— Yes, dirt on her angel's face!

Her hair in inky loops hung low,
O'er a soldier's canvas coat,
And a tattered shift yawned wide to show
A short and sunburned throat!
No lingerie —
We all could see
Her short and sunburned throat!
— Yes, more than her sunburned throat!

Her dress — her what? She had no dress;
Call it skirt for lack of a name —
('Tis a guess, the wildest kind of a guess)
Put shamelessness to shame!
So scanty and torn,
And carelessly worn,
It put shamelessness to shame!
— Yes, shamelessness to shame!

She gathered her kit and passed us by,
Foul bedding and pots and bags;
A babe on her hip — another one nigh —
Nakedness, filth and rags!
On the endless tramp
From camp to camp,
In nakedness, filth and rags!
— Yes, nakedness, filth and rags!

A drab and a drudge — a regiment's Thing
To abuse, debauch, debase;
And yet — as tho' guarded by Beauty's wing —
Her face was an angel's face!
Tho' sadly bedimmed,
'Twas Beauty who limned
The lines of her angel's face!
— Yes, modelled her angel's face!

What of it, you ask? Oh, nothing but this; —
I think it not often the case
That one clearly beholds in ignorance, bliss,
And 'tis proved by an angel's face!
For ignorance
Of innocence,
Shone from her angel's face!
— Yes, gave her an angel's face!