"Go, Sun, while Fashion holds me up,
Swollen skirt and skimpy waist
Shall fill—male—sorrow's bitter cup,
And mortify—male—taste!
Go, tell the spheres that sweep through space,
Thou saw'st the last of Eve's fair race,
In high ecstatic passion;
The darkening universe defy,
To quench her taste for Toggery,
Or shake her faith in Fashion!"