Anna Wickham

WHY wears my lady a trailing gown,

And the spurious gleam of a stage queen’s crown?

Let her leap to a horse, and be off to the down!

Astride, let her ride

For the sake of my pride,

That she is more ancient than Diana—

Ancient as that she-ape who, lurking among trees,

Dropt on a grazing zebra, gript him with her knees

And was off across the breadths of the savannah;

Barking her primal merry deviltry,

Barking in forecast of her son’s sovereignty.

My timeless lady is as old as she,

And she is moderner moreover

Than Broadway, or an airship, or than Paris lingerie.

O my eternal dominating dear,

How much less dated thou than Guinevere!

Then for your living lover

Change your gown,

And don your queenship when you doff your crown.