Classic Poem

( Selection )

Now o'er the world Infatuation sheds
The Polka's poppies into vacant heads.
Asleep the Polka seems a tangled maze,
Awake the Polka prompts a hundred lays:
Polka the halls, the balls, the calls resound,
And Polka skims, Camilla-like, the ground.
Where roves in groves the nonsense-doating nymph,
And dreams by streams as smooth and clear as lymph,
Some leaf as brief as woman's love flits by,
And brings dear Polka to her pensive eye.
So in swift circles, backward, forward, wheeled,
The Polka's graces were at first revealed;
Perchance some posture-master, happy man,
From Nature drew the Polka's pretty plan.
Oh, wondrous figure, exquisitely stepp'd,
In thee who would not, should not be adept?
Oh Polka, Polka, wherefore art thou so?
I've asked ten dandies, and the ten " don't know! "