Dear Fred, I believe it, I do!
Small marvel that Fashion is making
Her idol of you!
Alas for the world, and its dearly
Bought triumph, its fugitive bliss;
Sometimes I half wish I was merely
A plain or a penniless miss;
But perhaps one is best with “a measure
Of pelf,” and I’m not sorry, too,
That I’m pretty, because ’tis a pleasure,