The débutantes are in force to-night,
Sweet as their roses, pure as truth;
Dreams of beauty in clouds of tulle;
Blushing, fair in their guileless youth.
Flashing bright glances carelessly—
Carelessly, think you! Wait and see
How their sweetest smile is kept for him
Whom "mother" considers a good parti.
Sweet as their roses, pure as truth;
Dreams of beauty in clouds of tulle;
Blushing, fair in their guileless youth.
Flashing bright glances carelessly—
Carelessly, think you! Wait and see
How their sweetest smile is kept for him
Whom "mother" considers a good parti.
For the matrons watch and guard them well—
Little for youth or love care they;
The man they seek is the man with gold,
Though his heart be black, and his hair be gray.
"Nellie, how could you treat him so!
You know very well he is Goldmore's heir,"
"Jennie, look modest! Glance down and blush,—
Here comes papa with young Millionaire."
Little for youth or love care they;
The man they seek is the man with gold,
Though his heart be black, and his hair be gray.
"Nellie, how could you treat him so!
You know very well he is Goldmore's heir,"
"Jennie, look modest! Glance down and blush,—
Here comes papa with young Millionaire."
On a cold, gray rock, in Grecian seas,
The sirens sit, and their glamour try—
Warm white bosoms press harps of gold,
The while Ulysses' ship sails by.
Fair are the forms the sailors see,
Sweet are the songs the sailors hear
And—cool and wary, shrewd and old,
The sirens' mothers are watching near,
The sirens sit, and their glamour try—
Warm white bosoms press harps of gold,
The while Ulysses' ship sails by.
Fair are the forms the sailors see,
Sweet are the songs the sailors hear
And—cool and wary, shrewd and old,
The sirens' mothers are watching near,
Whispering counsel—"Fling back your hair,
It hides your shoulder." "Don't sing so fast!"
"Darling, don't look at that fair young man,
Try that old fellow there by the mast,
His arms are jewelled"—let it go!
Too bitter all this for an idle rhyme;
But sirens are kin of the gods, be sure,
And change but little with lapse of time.
It hides your shoulder." "Don't sing so fast!"
"Darling, don't look at that fair young man,
Try that old fellow there by the mast,
His arms are jewelled"—let it go!
Too bitter all this for an idle rhyme;
But sirens are kin of the gods, be sure,
And change but little with lapse of time.
| "THE DÉBUTANTES ARE IN FORCE TO-NIGHT, |
| SWEET AS THEIR ROSES, PURE AS TRUTH." —Page 122. |
PER ASPERA AD ASTRA.
A canvas-back duck, rarely roasted, between us,
A bottle of Chambertin, worthy of praise—
Less noble a wine at our age would bemean us—
A salad of celery en mayonnaise,
With the oysters we've eaten, fresh, plump, and delicious,
Naught left of them now but a dream and the shells;
No better souper e'en Lucullus could wish us—
Why, even our waiter regards us as swells.
A bottle of Chambertin, worthy of praise—
Less noble a wine at our age would bemean us—
A salad of celery en mayonnaise,
With the oysters we've eaten, fresh, plump, and delicious,
Naught left of them now but a dream and the shells;
No better souper e'en Lucullus could wish us—
Why, even our waiter regards us as swells.
Your dress is a marvel, your jewels show finely,
Your friends in the circle all envied your box;
You say Lilli Lehman sang quite too divinely—
I know I can't lose on that last deal in stocks.
Without waits our footman to call for our carriage—
Gad, how he must hate us, out there in the cold!—
We rode in a hack on the day of our marriage,
Number two forty-six—I was rolling in gold,
Your friends in the circle all envied your box;
You say Lilli Lehman sang quite too divinely—
I know I can't lose on that last deal in stocks.
Without waits our footman to call for our carriage—
Gad, how he must hate us, out there in the cold!—
We rode in a hack on the day of our marriage,
Number two forty-six—I was rolling in gold,
For I'd quite fifty dollars; and don't you remember
We drove down to Taylor's, a long cherished dream:
How grandly I ordered—just think, in December!—
Some cake, and two plates of vanilla ice-cream.
And how we enjoyed it! Your glance was the proudest
Among the proud beauties, your face the most fair;
I'm rather afraid, too, your laugh was the loudest;
I know we shocked every one—we didn't care.
We drove down to Taylor's, a long cherished dream:
How grandly I ordered—just think, in December!—
Some cake, and two plates of vanilla ice-cream.
And how we enjoyed it! Your glance was the proudest
Among the proud beauties, your face the most fair;
I'm rather afraid, too, your laugh was the loudest;
I know we shocked every one—we didn't care.
Now we'd care a great deal—with two sons at college,
And daughters just out, whose sneers make you wince,
We've tasted the fruit of Society's knowledge—
I don't think we've quite enjoyed anything since.
All through, dear? Now, don't wipe your mouth with the doily!
They're really not careful at all with their wine;
It wasn't half warmed—the salad was oily—
And I don't think the duck was remarkably fine.
And daughters just out, whose sneers make you wince,
We've tasted the fruit of Society's knowledge—
I don't think we've quite enjoyed anything since.
All through, dear? Now, don't wipe your mouth with the doily!
They're really not careful at all with their wine;
It wasn't half warmed—the salad was oily—
And I don't think the duck was remarkably fine.
THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE.
Oh! he was a student of mystic lore;
And she was a soulful girl
All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind
The paragon, pride, and pearl.
They loved with a neo-Concordic love,
Woofed weirdly with wistful woe.
They sat in a glen, remote from men,
Their converse was high and low.
"What marvellous words of marvellous love,
Speak marvellous souls like these?"
I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh
Was heard with the greatest ease.
"'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he;
"'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?"
"'Oors! 'Oors! Would 'oo k'y if dovey should die?"
"No'p!—tause 'ittle lammy'd die too."
How truthful we poets! The "language of Love"
Is a phrase we employ full oft;
But whenever we do, we prefix thereto,
You've noticed, the adjective "soft."
And she was a soulful girl
All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind
The paragon, pride, and pearl.
They loved with a neo-Concordic love,
Woofed weirdly with wistful woe.
They sat in a glen, remote from men,
Their converse was high and low.
"What marvellous words of marvellous love,
Speak marvellous souls like these?"
I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh
Was heard with the greatest ease.
"'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he;
"'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?"
"'Oors! 'Oors! Would 'oo k'y if dovey should die?"
"No'p!—tause 'ittle lammy'd die too."
How truthful we poets! The "language of Love"
Is a phrase we employ full oft;
But whenever we do, we prefix thereto,
You've noticed, the adjective "soft."