Robert W. Service
When a girl’s sixteen, and as poor as she’s pretty,
And she hasn’t a friend and she hasn’t a home,
Heigh-ho! She’s as safe in Paris city
As a lamb night-strayed where the wild wolves roam;
And that was I; oh, it’s seven years now
(Some water’s run down the Seine since then),
And I’ve almost forgotten the pangs and the tears now,
And I’ve almost taken the measure of men.
Oh, I found me a lover who loved me only,
Artist and poet, and almost a boy.
And my heart was bruised, and my life was lonely,
And him I adored with a wonderful joy.
If he’d come to me with his pockets empty,
How we’d have laughed in a garret gay!
But he was rich, and in radiant plenty
We lived in a villa at Viroflay.
Then came the War, and of bliss bereft me;
Then came the call, and he went away;
All that he had in the world he left me,
With the rose-wreathed villa at Viroflay.
Then came the news and the tragic story:
My hero, my splendid lover was dead,
Sword in hand on the field of glory,
And he died with my name on his lips, they said.
So here am I in my widow’s mourning,
The weeds I’ve really no right to wear;
And women fix me with eyes of scorning,
Call me “cocotte”, but I do not care.
And men look at me with eyes that borrow
The brightness of love, but I turn away;
Alone, say I, I will live with Sorrow,
In my little villa at Viroflay.
And lo! I’m living alone with ‘Pity’,
And they say that pity from love’s not far;
Let me tell you all: last week in the city
I took the metro at Saint Lazare;
And the carriage was crowded to overflowing,
And when there entered at Chateaudun
Two wounded ‘poilus’ with medals showing,
I eagerly gave my seat to one.
You should have seen them: they’d slipped death’s clutches,
But sadder a sight you will rarely find;
One had a leg off and walked on crutches,
The other, a bit of a boy, was blind.
And they both sat down, and the lad was trying
To grope his way as a blind man tries;
And half of the women around were crying,
And some of the men had tears in their eyes.
How he stirred me, this blind boy, clinging
Just like a child to his crippled chum.
But I did not cry. Oh no; a singing
Came to my heart for a year so dumb,
Then I knew that at three-and-twenty
There is wonderful work to be done,
Comfort and kindness and joy in plenty,
Peace and light and love to be won.
Oh, thought I, could mine eyes be given
To one who will live in the dark alway!
To love and to serve—’twould make life Heaven
Here in my villa at Viroflay.
So I left my ‘poilus’: and now you wonder
Why to-day I am so elate. . . .
Look! In the glory of sunshine yonder
They’re bringing my blind boy in at the gate.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem tells the story of a woman who has lived through hardship, love, loss, and ultimately a transformation of her heart. It opens with a reflection on youth, vulnerability, and survival, with the speaker recalling her younger days when she was a poor girl in Paris, completely at the mercy of the world. The sense of safety or vulnerability in the city is underscored by the metaphor of a lamb among wolves, suggesting that while she was defenseless, she was also full of potential, unaware of what lay ahead.
Her relationship with her lover, an artist-poet, is painted as both idealistic and flawed. She adores him and is willing to live simply with him, even in poverty. But the twist comes when he unexpectedly turns out to be wealthy, and they move to a villa in Viroflay. This seemingly perfect life is disrupted by the war, which not only takes away her lover but also thrusts her into widowhood. The phrase “my hero, my splendid lover was dead” carries the heavy weight of lost dreams, suggesting that her lover, as much as he was an ideal, was also a casualty of the brutality of war.
Despite her mourning, the speaker does not conform to the judgmental gaze of society. The women call her “cocotte”—a term often used for a woman of loose morals—and yet she is unmoved by their scorn. She chooses to live alone, in quiet reflection and sorrow, still in her villa at Viroflay, a place that holds both the memories of her lost love and the faintest glimmer of hope for the future.
The turning point in the poem comes when she is on the metro in Paris, and the sight of two wounded soldiers, or ‘poilus’, deeply moves her. One of them is blind, and the other has lost a leg. The woman’s instinct to help them—offering her seat to one—marks a shift from a life defined by loss to one inspired by compassion. The image of the blind soldier, struggling yet determined, brings a new clarity to her life. It rekindles a sense of purpose in her: to offer comfort, care, and love.
The final lines bring a sense of renewal and purpose. The blind soldier becomes a symbol of both suffering and hope, and her commitment to him suggests a deep understanding of love that transcends physical sight and embraces inner beauty and resilience. The villa, once a place of mourning, now becomes a place of service and new beginnings. The speaker’s life is no longer bound by the past, but instead, she has found a new calling in caring for the blind soldier, someone who needs love and kindness just as much as she does.
This poem explores themes of loss, societal judgment, and the transformative power of love. It emphasizes the complexity of human emotions—how grief can be both all-consuming and, eventually, a catalyst for change. The speaker’s journey from youthful naivety to widowhood, and finally to a place of compassion and action, is a poignant reflection of the resilience of the human spirit in the face of war and personal tragedy. Through the act of caring for another, she finds healing and purpose, a reminder that love and service are powerful antidotes to despair.