Kate Ketchem on a winter’s night
Went to a party dressed in white.
Her chignon in a net of gold
Was about as large as they ever sold.
Gayly she went because her “pap”
Was supposed to be a rich old chap.
But when by chance her glances fell
On a friend who had lately married well,
Her spirits sunk and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast.