With its gossip of all passing things and scandal of the "wing,"
Deep Opera diplomacy—the last alleged sore throat;
And all the very newest, and most piquant things afloat.
And thus my evening passes in the summer and the spring,
In lorgnette astronomics, and languid listening,
In sauntering, and gossiping, and lounging up and down,
And mixing up the music with the chit-chat of the town.
Till—from the Great Soprano Queen there's nothing more to hear,
Till—the last loud orchestral crash has died upon the ear,
Till—the last lingering lady has made her last delay,