And from the dentistry of art, that crowned her rippled chin,
She greeted me with pearly smile, the moment I stepped in.
I noted on her fingers small, some antique diamond rings,
And in her slippers russet brown, she tripped as 'twere on springs,
A dainty wrap, completed her little quaintly self,
She seemed a living Watteau, that stepped from off a shelf.
She seemed a living Watteau, from out a canvas sprung,
She wasn't—no, she wasn't—well you could not call her young.
She greeted me upsmiling, with business kindled fire,
And volunteered the question,