Your draperies stir. From vein to marble vein
The life-blood leaps. Eyes gleam, and pulses glow.
Once more my octaves rap their old refrain
To re-create the weekly puppet-show.
Fond boy, to work! My Jill’s herself again,
And answers your entreaty—sideways glancing—
“Perhaps I will. It’s jolly hot for dancing.”
So they twain pass—smart sub. and flapper stately—
From the high halls of Gunter’s prank’t refection.
And out across the waxèd boards, where lately