AIR-CASTLES.
When I grow up to be a man and wear whate'er I please,
Black-cloth and serge and Harris-tweed—I will have none of these;
For shaggy men wear Harris-tweed, so Harris-tweed won't do,
And fat commercial travellers are dressed in dingy blue;
Lack-lustre black to lawyers leave and sad souls in the City,
But I'll wear Linsey-Woolsey because it sounds so pretty.
I don't know what it looks like,
I don't know how it feels,
But Linsey-Woolsey to my fancy
Prettily appeals.
And when I find a lovely maid to settle all my cash on,
She will be much too beautiful to need the gauds of fashion.
No tinted tulle or taffeta, no silk or crêpe-de-chine
Will the maiden of my fancy wear—no chiffon, no sateen,
No muslin, no embroidery, no lace of costly price,
But she'll be clad in Dimity because it sounds so nice.
I don't know what it looks like,
I do not know its feel,
But a dimpled maid in Dimity
Was ever my ideal.