DRESS ECONOMY AND THE CLAIMS OF ART.
To Lord Spencer on seeing his portrait by Mr. Orpen at the Royal Academy.
Here, at the Press View, ere the opening day
Admits the public on receipt of pay
And all the gallery like a murmurous shell hums,
I stand before your picture, awed and mute,
In reverent worship and an old, old suit
Of baggy ante-bellums.
For, when Britannia first in wrath arose,
I took a vow:—So long as these poor clo's
Together, though reduced to just a mesh, hold,
Never will I, till Victory's trump rings clear
(Save when I purchase military gear),
Cross any tailor's threshold.
Yet, gazing on the garb you figure in,
Shining and perfect as a new-born pin—
The frock-coat built to dazzle gods and men, Sir,
The virgin tie, the collar passing tall,
The flawless crease of trousers which recall
The prime of Bobby Spencer—
I hesitate to blame your lack of thrift;
I would not have your sacred feelings biffed
By harsh reflections from a patriot's war-pen;
Those rich externals which arrest the view
Were but adopted as essential to
The scheme of Mr. Orpen.
Such was the sacrifice you made to Art!
And there are other portraits, very smart—
Sitters who must have borne the same hard trial;
Who waived their loyal taste for cheap attire
And went, superbly tailored, through the fire
Of noble self-denial.
O. S.