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I think this is one of Larkin's very best poems. I think what some might have seen as a failure of compassion on the poet's part is actually his grasping at the enormity of what happened; it's the fact that the act was so terrible that means that the poet couldn't comfort his subject; he feels her grief 'sharp and bitter as the stalks he made you swallow', even at distance of more than half a century and this is compounded for him as he imagines that fasionable London would have looked the other way, having no interest in the 'ruin' of a wrking-class girl.
But the conclusion hits you like a blow: for all her grief, the girl was 'less deceived' than the man who drugged and raped her, believing that this 'fulfilment' of his desires would make him happy. I think it's vital to remember that Larkin says that the victim was 'the less deceived,' not the less harmed or wronged. There is no lack of compassion here in this beautifully crafted poem which deals movingly with the grief of the girl but then surprises us with it's comments on the dreadful nature of uncontrolled desire. I think it's a masterpiece and I'm always somewhat surprised that, even considering the power of Larkin's more celebrated work, this poem doesn't attract more attention.
Mark from United Kingdom