THOSE DRESSES.
(Being a Midsummer Night's Dream, or thereabouts.)
More gay than day and plumier
Than Birds of Paradise,
It was no Court Costumier
That made them look so nice;
No milliners nor drapers
On mortal business terms
Of those sweet modes were shapers,
Though several evening papers
Mention the actual firms.
But fairies wove that raiment
Of starshine and of flowers;
They asked no better payment,
They craved no shorter hours;
With eglantine and lilies
They worked a June night long,
And that is just where "Phyllis"
In "Ascot frocks and frillies"
Goes absolutely wrong.
'Neath beech-tree and 'neath cedar,
In rings of moonlit green....
What bilge, you say, good reader?
My very dear old bean,
Think of the state of Prices,
Think of the slump in Trade,
Turn to the Paris Crisis,
Ponder the cost of ices
And buns and gingerade.
New War-loans shriek for money;
All work is at an end;
It seems extremely funny
There's any cash to spend;
Yet still the tide of laces,
The foam of fluff and silk
Comes round in cardboard cases
To lots of people's places
As punctual as the milk.
While, sworn to get revenge in,
And waiting at the door,
That grim three-handed engine
Prepares to strike once more,
Who built these gowns we mutely
Admire on lawn and lea?
Who bought them (think acutely),
With England absolutely
As broke as she can be?
Therefore I say the fabric
Was wrought of faery woof,
Not made in walls of drab brick
Nor won with mortal oof;
Delicate, dream-like, pretty
As sunshine after rain,
Worn by Miss Hodgson ("Kitty")—
It seems a dreadful pity
She spilled the iced champagne.
Therefore I say that, toiling
With wild white roses' bloom—
No printers' vats a-boiling
Nor labour of the loom—
With fern and foxglove chalice
On tiny feet or wings
Titania's elves made sallies,
And that's how Lady Alice
Had on those lovely things.
EVOE.