Poem by William Ernest Henley

In Hospital. 9. Lady-Probationer

Some three, or five, or seven, and thirty years;
A Roman nose; a dimpling double-chin;
Dark eyes and shy that, ignorant of sin,
Are yet acquainted, it would seem, with tears;
A comely shape; a slim, high-coloured hand,
Graced, rather oddly, with a signet ring;
A bashful air, becoming everything;
A well-bred silence always at command.
Her plain print gown, prim cap, and bright steel chain
Look out of place on her, and I remain
Absorbed in her, as in a pleasant mystery.
Quick, skilful, quiet, soft in speech and touch . . .
‘Do you like nursing?’  ‘Yes, Sir, very much.’
Somehow, I rather think she has a history.

1. Echoes. 12. To Me at My Fifth-Floor Window
2. Echoes. 21. We Flash across the Level
3. In Hospital. 22. Pastoral
4. In Hospital. 12. Etching
5. Echoes. 15. There Is a Wheel Inside My Head

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