Poem: The Ruined Maid

With apologies to Thomas Hardy:

The Ruined Maid

Last night I met a comely girl
With cheek a-blush and golden curls.
Pure this maid as glittered snow,
And to my chamber we did go.

Yet when the sun dispersed the moon,
I woke to find..this maid was ruined!
And so I’d like to take her back.
For look behind, you’ll see she’s cracked.

She’s lost that new-maid smell, it’s true.
No, she’s been used. And badly, too.
What once shut tight now flops about.
It lets in light and slops without.

I’ve been misled! This isn’t right!
Her maidenhead didn’t last the night.
You see, she’s ruined! Quite ruined, I say.
I want a new one, right away!

Her knees are scuffed beyond repair.
And hand prints on her derriere!
She winks at every passing bloke.
Her legs have bowed, and now she smokes.


This maiden’s ruined. So take her back.
The bill of sale is in the sack.
It’s virtue I demand, or else
I’ll take my virtue somewhere else.


--Arthur Greenleaf Holmes, 1588