A Parody Anthology - Wells Carolyn

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exclusive Style you set your heart upon

      Gets to the Bargain counters – and anon

      Like monograms on a Saleslady's tie

      Cheers but a moment – soon for you 'tis gone.

      Think, on the sad Four Hundred's gilded halls,

      Whose endless Leisure ev'n themselves appalls,

      How Ping-pong raged so high – then faded out

      To those far Suburbs that still chase its Balls.

      They say Sixth Avenue and the Bowery keep

      The dernier cri that once was far from cheap;

      Green Veils, one season chic – Department stores

      Mark down in vain – no profit shall they reap.

      I sometimes think that never lasts so long

      The Style as when it starts a bit too strong;

      That all the Pompadours the parterre boasts

      Some Chorus-girl began, with Dance and Song.

      And this Revival of the Chignon low

      That fills the most of us with helpless Woe,

      Ah, criticise it Softly! for who knows

      What long-necked Peeress had to wear it so!

      Ah, my beloved, try each Style you meet;

      To-day brooks no loose ends, you must be neat.

      To-morrow! why, to-morrow you may be

      Wearing it down your back like Marguerite!

      For some we once admired, the Very Best

      That ever a French hand-boned Corset prest,

      Wore what they used to call Prunella Boots,

      And put on Nightcaps ere they went to rest.

      And we that now make fun of Waterfalls

      They wore, and whom their Crinoline appalls,

      Ourselves shall from old dusty Fashion plates

      Assist our Children in their Costume balls.

      Ah, make the most of what we yet may wear,

      Before we grow so old that we don't care!

      Before we have our Hats made all alike,

      Sans Plumes, sans Wings, sans Chiffon, and – sans Hair!

Josephine Daskam Bacon.

      THE MODERN RUBAIYAT

(Dobley's Version)

      HARK! for the message cometh from the King!

      Winter, thy doom is spoke; thy dirges ring,

      Thy time is o'er – and through the Palace door

      Enter the Princess! Hail the new-crowned Spring!

      Comes she all rose-crowned, glowing with the Joy

      Of Laughter and of Cupid, the God-Boy;

      Buds bursting on the bough in welcoming

      To Her we Love, whose loving will not cloy!

      List! from the organ rippling in the Street

      Come sounds rejoicing, glad Her reign to greet.

      The Shad is smiling in the Market Place

      And eke the Little Neck! Ah – Life is Sweet!

      Come, let us lilt a Merry Little Song

      And in an Automobile glide along

      Into the glory of the Year's new Birth.

      Hasten! Oh, haste! For this is Spring, I Think!

      Come where the Bonnets bloom within the Grove

      And let us pluck them for the One we Love;

      Violets and Things and chiffon-nested Birds.

      Tell me – didst ever see a Glass-Eyed Dove?

      Think you how many Springs will go and come

      When We are Dead Ones – and the busy Hum

      Of life will never reach us – Nothing Done

      And Nothing Doing in the Silence Glum!

      Listen! the cable car's Gay Gong has rang,

      The Elevated on its perch, A-clang

      Like to a District Messenger astir.

      Thought you, it was a Nightingale that sang?

      Ah! my Beloved, when it's Really Spring

      We know it by the Buds a-blossoming,

      Signals from earth to sky – Tremendous Sounds

      That might to Some mean any Ancient Thing!

      Then let us to the Caravan at Once,

      The Sawdust where the Peanut haunts

      The air with strange sweet Odors

      And the Elephant does Wild and Woolly Stunts!

      Asparagus is glowing on the Stall,

      The Spring lamb cavorts on the Menu tall;

      Strawberries ripe – a Dollar for the Box:

      Wouldn't it jar You somehow, After all?

      A Book of Coon Songs underneath the Bough,

      A Jug of Wine, a Dozen Buns, and Thou

      Beside me singing rag-time? I don't know?

      I wonder would a dozen be enow?

      I sent my soul afling through Joy and Pain

      For Information that the Winds might deign.

      Softly the breezes pitched it, Russie-curved,

      And whispered slowly – sadly – “Guess Again."

      Sometimes I think the Glories that they Sing

      Are like the grape-vine the Fox tried to cling;

      But take To-day – and make the Most of It,

      I think it's Just Too Sweet for anything!

      What of To-morrow – say you? Oh, my Friend —

      To-morrow's Not been Touched. It's yet to Spend.

      I often wonder if we should expire

      If we could but Collect the Gold we Lend!

      Ah, Love! could Thou and I Creation run,

      How Different our Scheme! The Summer's sun

      Would see another Springtime blossoming,

      Another Summer's Rose to Follow On!

      And Leaning from the Sky a Little Star

      Would Tell Us from the Canopy afar

      What now we Grope for in the Dinky-dink,

      And wonder blindly, vaguely, What we Are!

      And when Alone you dream your fancies ripe,

      Thyself all Hasheesh-fed – My Prototype!

      Smoke Up – and when you gather with the Group

      Where I made One – Turn Down an Empty Pipe!

Kate Masterson

      LINES WRITTEN (“BY REQUEST") FOR A DINNER OF THE OMAR KHAYYAM CLUB

      MASTER, in memory of that Verse of Thine,

      And of Thy rather pretty taste in Wine,

      We gather at this jaded Century's

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