Classic Poem

Regulation -skirted,
Throat framed in fur,
Poised . . . and disconcerted
To the soul of her.

Modish from her taxi,
The last word of art . . .
And the fires of Cotopaxi
In her shaken heart.

Fortunate her manner,
On the Mayfair curb;
But her stricken banner
Would high heaven disturb:

Trivial her cover,
Judge it as you must,
Yesterday her lover
Turned her dream to dust.

Tragedy is roguish
To the point of shame
When it is the voguish
Thing to play the game:

Touch of rouge for masking,
Flippancy of skirt,
Meanwhile eyes are asking
Remedy for hurt.

Here's no cause for pity
Seen from fashion's pave,—
But from another City,
How they rush to save!