All night long the darling daughter squirms Wild where the Toddle and Shimmy vie In making passion virtuous and correct, That nature may be told just one more lie. Her mother is a lorgnette scanning all The eligible men upon the floor: She thinks of what their great-grandfathers did, Eschewing her darling might become their whore. A spade is not a spade, and it is just That any tremulous twisting of her lips Should be mere prettiness, or call it grace The @3canto amoroso@1 of her hips. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WIZARD IN WORDS by MARIANNE MOORE DON JUAN'S SONG by ISAAC ROSENBERG POE'S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM by JOHN HENRY BONER LEARNING TO READ by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER AN ODE UPON A QUESTION WHETHER LOVE SHOULD CONTINUE FOREVER by EDWARD HERBERT TO THE WATER NYMPHS DRINKING AT THE FOUNTAIN by ROBERT HERRICK |