THE STRANGE CASE OF THE MUSICAL COMEDY STAR
The lady cannot sing a note,
There is a languor in her throat
Beyond all healing,
She does not act at all, it seems,
Except in early morning dreams—
She lacks the feeling.
Her feet are pretty, but methinks,
The weighty and phlegmatic Sphinx
Could trip as lightly—
And yet she is a regular,
Serene and well established star
Who twinkles nightly.
And Solomon for all his stir,
Had not a single jewel on her,
Nor did his capers
Procure him even half the space
For publication of his face
In ancient papers.
Her gowns, her furs, her limousines
Would catch the eye of stately queens
In any city—
She cannot sing, or dance or act,
But then I have remarked the fact—
Her feet are pretty.