Cover and hide, from all but doctor-ken,
Disease and threatening death. Oh! men, men, men!
You bow, smile, flatter—aught but understand!
Long hours lay lethal hand
Upon our very vitals. Seats might save
From an untimely grave,
Hundreds of harried, inly anguished girls;
You see—their snow-girt throats and neatly-ordered curls!
Out to the green fields? Nay,
This all too fleeting day