No?—Phryne's brazen stare!
With soul undone, but body made up,
I've all the fun of the fair.
"So I work, work, work!
My labour never fags.
And what are its wages? A Spinster's doom,
And a place on the roll of hags.
Still I ogle away by the wall,—
A playful kittenish thing;
Autumn well written all over my face,