There dwells a bare-armed laundry girl to serve the rank and file.
Her name is Sheila Shanahan, she reigns in Soap Suds Row,
The lane that won to luster in the army long ago.
She bendeth o’er a wash tub while the sentries walk the walls,
And pyramids are builded from the brooding cannon balls.
She elevates an army post without the least design,
The belle of all the barracks hanging clothes upon a line.
Fate ransacked ancient reveries to dower youth’s desire,
Unrolled the scrolls of Sidon and the tapestries of Tyre;
She pilfered from Parnassus till the gods ran to and fro,