Integer vitae, scelerisque purus... GRAC'D with a temper void of affectation, She who alone her native charms relies on, Needs not the aid of rouge, ceruse, or carmine, Mortal with poison; Whether in the ball room down the dance she wanders, Or at the concert, where no frozen beaux melt, Or in the stage box where sly comick Twaits pours The full tide of laughter. She at her book, from toilet cares abstracted, Simply attired, a smart dashing beau saw; Saw -- and tripp'd off -- pronouncing her a queer quiz, Or a bore most horrid. Such a smart tippy fashionable England Ne'er could produce through all her realms of Bond-street, Nor dressy France, that nursery of fashion, Land of petit-maitres. Place her where never lemonade or silk fan Cool'd the flush'd partner, wearied in cotillion, Or where old bachelors, powder'd by time's friseur, Gloom the horizon -- Place her in massy iron grated nunnery, Where chaste Diana o'er the frost bit vestals, Snows with icy rigour, and the pent up virgins, Freeze to old maids. Still shall the sweet nymph never fail to charm me, Who in neat attire with the blush of nature, Looks interesting when she's sweetly smiling, Sweetly conversing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PHONECALL FROM FRANK O'HARA by ANNE WALDMAN ODE; SUNG BY THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS by W. T. ADAMS SONG OF THE FATHERLAND by ERNST MORITZ ARNDT A MIGRANT THRUSH by MARY RUSSELL BARTLETT EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNNY (HIS PUBLISHER) by ROBERT BURNS SONG OF SNOW-WHITE HEADS by CHO WEN-CHUN THE FIRST ARTISTS by NATHALIA CRANE |