Repentance

How is it that I am what I am How did I come to fall? Who was the man my soul to damn Black in the sight of all? Who was it came in my virgin hood And in some evil hour Turned all my life to bad from good Bruising the tender flower? I cannot remember the fellow's name I had long ago forgot; I was young and my blood was flame The person mattered not. I was hot as a blazing brand Blood and body and nerve Ripe to be plucked by the first man's hand And any man would serve. I have had my day, I have had my fling Men have bowed at my knee. I sit in the bars where the harlots sing To sailors hot from the sea. Sallow my cheeks and my lips have faded Life's roses slip my clutch But my blood is still hot and still unjaded I can thrill to the deck-hand's touch. Still I thrill to the hands of men I love the contact yet The breath that is laden with wharfside gin The scent of tobacco and sweat. Bristly jowls on my painted cheek The obscene, whispered jest, Calloused hands that lustfully seek My out-worn charms to quest. My by-gone life is dim and far; I am content with gin, A slug of wine, sometimes at the bar, A room for the sailormen.