I was only eight years old; <br />And before I grew up and knew what it meant <br />I had no words for it, except <br />That I was frightened and told my Mother; <br />And that my Father got a pistol <br />And would have killed Charlie, who was a big boy, <br />Fifteen years old, except for his Mother. <br />Nevertheless the story clung to me. <br />But the man who married me, a widower of thirty-five, <br />Was a newcomer and never heard it <br />Till two years after we were married. <br />Then he considered himself cheated, <br />And the village agreed that I was not really a virgin. <br />Well, he deserted me, and I died <br />The following winter.<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nellie-clark/
