So wonderful your art, if you preferred
Drayma to opry, you’d be all the mustard;
For you (ecstatic pressmen have averred)
Have Sarah Bernhardt larruped to a custard.
So marvelous your voice, too, if you cared
With turns and trills and tra-la-las to dazzle,
You’d have (enraptured critics have declared)
All other singers beaten to a frazzle.
So eloquent your legs, were it your whim
To caper nimbly in a classic measure,