 | English Roses |  |
AT THE ACADEMY.
My dear Poppy, I went to the Pictures
With Papa, who for once had no gout;
Though he uttered some terrible strictures,
On the dresses and studies without.
Never mind! it was fun, and the clothing
After all is a detail to do;
But I think, yet my judgment is nothing,
They should just have a figleaf or two.
Though some artists imagine, that nudity
Is the hallmark of loftier strains;
And forget that (like colours) their crudity
Should be mixed, as said Opie, with brains.
With Papa, who for once had no gout;
Though he uttered some terrible strictures,
On the dresses and studies without.
Never mind! it was fun, and the clothing
After all is a detail to do;
But I think, yet my judgment is nothing,
They should just have a figleaf or two.
Though some artists imagine, that nudity
Is the hallmark of loftier strains;
And forget that (like colours) their crudity
Should be mixed, as said Opie, with brains.
I am no connoisseur, my sweet Mignon,
And I only can paint my own face;
So it's idle to state an opinion,
Which were better on ribands or lace.
But it struck me, on coming from Paris,
That the hues are offensive and stare;
Not so much, though, as poor Sissy Harris,
With the husband whom too many share.
As to seas—well, the blues are outrageous
And like nought in the heavens or earth;
Perhaps seeing such daubs is contagious,
For they gave me “blue devils” for mirth.
And I only can paint my own face;
So it's idle to state an opinion,
Which were better on ribands or lace.
But it struck me, on coming from Paris,
That the hues are offensive and stare;
Not so much, though, as poor Sissy Harris,
With the husband whom too many share.
As to seas—well, the blues are outrageous
And like nought in the heavens or earth;
Perhaps seeing such daubs is contagious,
For they gave me “blue devils” for mirth.
73
There were portraits of men doing duty
In the stiffest of poses and parts,
And some women with all but the beauty
Which atones for the absence of hearts.
And the “Poodle,” dear darling, was present
With the dews of the country and that;
Plus his bride (a prim apple-cheeked peasant)
Who is forty and ugly and fat.
O to think he once loved me and dangled
Half a season or more at my side,
And was caught by a rustic who angled
With the clumsiest sops to his pride.
In the stiffest of poses and parts,
And some women with all but the beauty
Which atones for the absence of hearts.
And the “Poodle,” dear darling, was present
With the dews of the country and that;
Plus his bride (a prim apple-cheeked peasant)
Who is forty and ugly and fat.
O to think he once loved me and dangled
Half a season or more at my side,
And was caught by a rustic who angled
With the clumsiest sops to his pride.
But I really think Algie is serious,
For a coronet too one can wait;
Though his movements are often mysterious,
And my looks a diminishing bait.
To return to the theme, it's a question
Of the taste and mine may not be true;
I prefer the high art of suggestion,
Which leaves fancy to follow a clue.
Still the “Dancing girl” stood out delicious,
By the President—worth all the rest;
But the fates at the end proved propitious,
And the view of my Algie was best.
For a coronet too one can wait;
Though his movements are often mysterious,
And my looks a diminishing bait.
To return to the theme, it's a question
Of the taste and mine may not be true;
I prefer the high art of suggestion,
Which leaves fancy to follow a clue.
Still the “Dancing girl” stood out delicious,
By the President—worth all the rest;
But the fates at the end proved propitious,
And the view of my Algie was best.
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