I'm so glad she can win her own dollars
And know all the freedom it brings.
I love her in shirt-waists and collars,
I love her in dress-reform things.
I love her in bicycle skirtlings—
Especially when there's a breeze—
I love her in crinklings and quirklings
And anything else that you please.
I dote on her even in bloomers—
If Parisian enough in their style—
In fact, she may choose her costumers,
Wherever her fancy beguile.
She may box, she may shoot, she may wrestle,
She may argue, hold office or vote,
She may engineer turret or trestle,
And build a few ships that will float.
She may lecture (all lectures but curtain)
Make money, and naturally spend,
If I let her have her way, I'm certain
She'll let me have mine in the end!
THE WELSH RABBITTERN[5]
BY KENYON COX
This is a very fearsome bird
Who sits upon men's chests at night.
With horrid stare his eyeballs glare:
He flies away at morning's light.