| |
| JUST a week more of waiting, a week and a day, | |
| And the night of delight will be here; | |
| So ply me your very best pinions, I pray, | |
| Wednesday, dear! | |
| |
| We’ve considered the question, and find that I must | 5 |
| Have arrived (beyond rational doubt) | |
| “Unto years of discretion,” and that’s why I’m just | |
| Coming out. | |
| |
| So we’re giving a dance, to establish the fact | |
| That I’m one with the World and his Wife; | 10 |
| And may join, if I choose, in the popular game | |
| Known as Life. | |
| |
| Yes, we’re giving a dance—on an excellent floor— | |
| To announce that I ’ve come on the scene, | |
| And that men for the future must say nothing more | 15 |
| Than they mean. | |
| |
| And the dress I’m to wear is a wonder of white, | |
| Suggesting a fugitive dove; | |
| And, I’m happy to say, it embraces me quite | |
| Like a glove. | 20 |
| |
| And the household will come and inspect my array, | |
| While I try to look careless and bland, | |
| Like a hair-dresser’s doll pirouetting away | |
| On a stand. | |
| |
| And I fancy a bouquet in quite the best style | 25 |
| From a gallant anonymous swain, | |
| Whose ingenuous blushes will render his guile | |
| Very vain. | |
| |
| And I dream of the partners that jump and that jig, | |
| And the couples that charge and chase; | 30 |
| And the men who convey you about like a big | |
| Double-bass. | |
| |
| And the fun is to last from a fit time for bed, | |
| All the lovely night through up to five; | |
| Till the danc’d and the dancers are rather more dead | 35 |
| Than alive. | |
| |
| Then follows discussion, when every one goes, | |
| Of the dresses and who wore what; | |
| Of the men who were perfect to dance with, and those | |
| Who were not. | 40 |
| |
| And at last and alone I shall probably scan | |
| My programme and gravely reflect | |
| That I’ve danced with one partner more frequently than | |
| Was correct. | |
| |
| And the whole to conclude about noon the next day | 45 |
| With a stiffness and something of pique, | |
| To think that one cannot come out in this way | |
| Once a week. | |
| |
| And the moral?—oh, bubbles will burst at a touch, | |
| And I sha’n’t be a child any more; | 50 |
| Only sadder and wiser by ever so much | |
| Than before. | |
| |
