And fires of youth—where now are only embers.
Jack’s Jills! Why, Muse possesses quite a list full,
May’s Jill, and June’s Jill, August’s, and September’s ...
Yet dares no more than skim each light adventure
Which followed on flirtationship’s indenture.
For there’s a tide in the affairs of flappers,
Of those, at least, that West End mothers breed—
(Your Wapping matron’s more inclined to slap hers:
A vulgar trick—yet one which serves some need!)—
A spring-time blood-tide, mounting to young nappers,