(July, 1914)
White teeth, neat black moustache and lovely eyes—
Face bronzed and beautiful, like a young god—
Tired Rollo is the dreaming school girl’s prize.
He leans against the wall, perhaps will dance
If they ask very nicely: sweet young things!
He’s “an observer,” and he can’t conceal
He’s frightfully bored with all this sort of crowd.
He prefers artists, men of genius;
He has a soul above the idle rich—