We spoke, the camp-follower and I. About us was a cold, pungent odor— Gun-powder, stale wine, wet earth, and the smell of thousands of men. She said it reminded her of the scent In the house of prostitutes she had lived in. About us were soldiers—hordes of scarlet women, stupidly, smilingly giving up their bodies To a putrid-lipped, chuckling lover—Death; While their mistress in tinsel whipped them on. ... She spoke of a woman she had known in Odessa, Owner of a huge band of girls, Who had pocketed their earnings for years, Only to be used, swindled and killed by some nobleman. ... She said she thought of this grinning woman Whenever she saw an officer brought back from battle, dead. ... And I sat beside her and wondered. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 4. BALLYTULLAGH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM UNCLE OUT O' DEBT AN' OUT O' DANGER by WILLIAM BARNES NIGHT IN CAMP by HERBERT BASHFORD A FADING PHANTOM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 7. POMPILIA by ROBERT BROWNING OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 16. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE TWELFTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |