The gaunt hall was filled with men.

Bright badges of servitude 
Glittered on khaki shoulders 
As fighting men, 
Their dull thoughts groping for utterance 
Cursed conversationally 
And shifted in their seats. 
The lights died 
And there was silence. 
A whirling lance of golden notes 
Stabbed through the air. 
The dull curtains swept apart. 
The stage glowed llike a soft gold cavern. 
And there came a dancer! 

Rose pink her dress 
Standing stiffly from the ivory white 
Of her soft body. 
Her hair a tight, tortured mass of molded jet 
With little, shining gleams of an old beauty 
Bringing a new light to tired eyes. 
Like a fresh rose petal 
Tossed fluttering down a filthy alley 
She danced, 
Her incredibly dainty feet 
Tapping the beat on men's hearts 
And on pine boards. 
Another whirl of glorious sound 
And she was gone. 

In the cast monotony of the barracks 
Men 
Laid loosely in the rigid conformity of their beds 
And dreamed. 
Pipe bowls blowed a dancer's rose pink 
In the dark. 

         TenEyck Van Deusen