And that’s because I’m seventeen
And she is forty-nine.
She rides with half a dozen men,
(She calls them “boys” and “mashers”)
I trot along the Mall alone;
My prettiest frocks and sashes
Don’t help to fill my programme-card,
And vainly I repine
From 10 to 2 A. M. Ah me!
Would I were forty-nine!