Classic Poem

Why, my life, delight to go forth
With a permanent wave, and so forth?
Why, my dear, attempt to stir us
With a Coan silk susurrus?

What avails to soak your tresses
In these Syrian myrrhy messes?
Forty tons of bought cosmetic
Cannot make you more aesthetic.

Nothing the modistes can sew you
Fairer than yourself can show you.
Love, undecked, has only loathing
For an art whose end is clothing.

See the colors Earth is showing!
Ivy in its greenness growing,
And the lovely wild arbutus —
How the hues of nature suit us!

See the gems the wanton giver,
Nature, sets along the river;
And the songlets of the birdies
Nor Debussy's are nor Verdi's.

Phaebe flamed the heart of Castor
By no paint nor beauty plaster;
Hillaira, winning Pollux,
Looked not like the Midnight Frollucks.

Though she wore no rouge nor jewel,
Idas fought a bitter duel
For Evenus's fair daughter,
Phaebus also having sought her.

By no brilliance false or phony
Hippodamia's matrimony
Was achieved; all unbeholden
They to gems and trinkets golden.

Count me equal, bone and sinew,
To the rogues that seek to win you.
Be not quite so free and flirty;
Be content with your Pro per tie.

Sing — by Phaebus! — sweetly, gaily!
Strum the Aonian ukulele!
Then, if frippery you'll eschew,
I will stay in love with you.

Why, my life, delight to go forth
With a permanent wave, and so forth?
Why, my dear, attempt to stir us
With a Coan silk susurrus?

What avails to soak your tresses
In these Syrian myrrhy messes?
Forty tons of bought cosmetic
Cannot make you more aesthetic.

Nothing the modistes can sew you
Fairer than yourself can show you.
Love, undecked, has only loathing
For an art whose end is clothing.

See the colors Earth is showing!
Ivy in its greenness growing,
And the lovely wild arbutus —
How the hues of nature suit us!

See the gems the wanton giver,
Nature, sets along the river;
And the songlets of the birdies
Nor Debussy's are nor Verdi's.

Phaebe flamed the heart of Castor
By no paint nor beauty plaster;
Hillaira, winning Pollux,
Looked not like the Midnight Frollucks.

Though she wore no rouge nor jewel,
Idas fought a bitter duel
For Evenus's fair daughter,
Phaebus also having sought her.

By no brilliance false or phony
Hippodamia's matrimony
Was achieved; all unbeholden
They to gems and trinkets golden.

Count me equal, bone and sinew,
To the rogues that seek to win you.
Be not quite so free and flirty;
Be content with your Pro per tie.

Sing — by Phaebus! — sweetly, gaily!
Strum the Aonian ukulele!
Then, if frippery you'll eschew,
I will stay in love with you.