Classic Poem

I

IN CHLORIN

Dear Mrs. Ibycus, accept a little sound advice,
Your manners, and your speech are overbold;
To chase around the sporty way you do is far from nice;
Believe me, darling, you are growing old.

Now Pholoi may fool around (she dances like a doe!)
A debutante has got to think of men;
But you were twenty-seven over thirty years ago —
You ought to be asleep at half-past ten.

O Chloris, cut the ragging and the roses and the rum —
Delete the drink, or better, chop the booze!
Go buy a skein of yarn and make the knitting needles hum,
And imitate the art of Sister Suse.

II

Chloris, lay off the flapper stuff;
What's fit for Pholoi, a fluff,
Is not for Ibycus's wife —
A woman at your time of life!

Ignore, old dame, such pleasures as
The shimmy and " the Bacchus Jazz " ;
Your presence with the maidens jars —
You are the cloud that dims the stars.

Your daughter Pholoe may stay
Out nights upon the Appian Way;
Her love for Nothus, as you know,
Makes her as playful as a doe.

No jazz for you, no jars of wine.
No rose that blooms incarnadine.
For one thing only are you fit:
Buy some Lucerian wool — and knit!