To Mary Robinson <br />'WHAT, are you lost, you pretty little lady? <br />This is no place for such sweet things as you. <br />Our bodies, rank with sweat, will make you sicken, <br />And, you'll observe, our lives are rank lives too.' <br />'Oh no, I am not lost! Oh no, I've come here <br />(And I have brought my lute, see, in my hand) <br />To see you, and to sing of all you suffer <br />To the great World, and make it understand!' <br />'Well, say! If one of those who'd robbed you thousands, <br />Dropped you a sixpence in the gutter where <br />You lay and rotted, would you call her angel, <br />For all her charming smile and dainty air?' <br />'Oh no, I come not thus! Oh no, I've come here <br />With heart indignant, pity like a flame, <br />To try and help you!' — 'Pretty little lady, <br />It will be best you go back whence you came. <br />' ‘Enthusiasms’ we have such little time for! <br />In our rude camp we drill the whole day long. <br />When we return from out the serried Battle, <br />Come, and we'll listen to your pretty song!'<br /><br />Francis William Lauderdale Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-visitor-in-the-camp/
