Classic Poem

He talked of Delhi brothels half the night,
Quaking with fever; and then, dragging tight
The frowsy blankets to his chattering chin,
Cursed for an hour because they were so thin.
And nothing would keep out that gnawing cold—
Scarce forty years of age, and yet so old,
Haggard and worn with burning eyes set deep—
Until at last he cursed himself asleep.

Before I'd shut my eyes reveille came;
And as I dressed by the one candle-flame
The mellow golden light fell on his face
Still sleeping, touching it to tender grace,
Rounding the features life had scarred so deep,
Till youth came back to him in quiet sleep:
And then what women saw in him I knew
And why they'd love him all his brief life through.