My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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THE PRIMROSE DAME. |
 | My Lyrical Life |  |
THE PRIMROSE DAME.
Your Primrose Dame is a likely Lass,
To wile and wheedle the Working Class
Of their Votes—her end and aim!
A vision of beauty, in by-way or street,
Is the glance of her face, or a glimpse of her feet,—
When a-foot is the Primrose Dame.
To wile and wheedle the Working Class
Of their Votes—her end and aim!
A vision of beauty, in by-way or street,
Is the glance of her face, or a glimpse of her feet,—
When a-foot is the Primrose Dame.
The men used to suffer the brunt of the strife,—
Kissed the children, Courted the Wife,
And cured the halt and the lame;
But they who once lorded it over the poll
Now send out the women to cadge and cajole,—
Pray you pity the Primrose Dame!
Kissed the children, Courted the Wife,
And cured the halt and the lame;
But they who once lorded it over the poll
Now send out the women to cadge and cajole,—
Pray you pity the Primrose Dame!
We're all of One flesh, at Election time,
Whether white-powdered or black with grime,—
Skim-milk, or Crême de la crême;
Open-armed at your door she knocks,
Wants to pry into the Ballot-box,
Does the promising Primrose Dame.
Whether white-powdered or black with grime,—
Skim-milk, or Crême de la crême;
Open-armed at your door she knocks,
Wants to pry into the Ballot-box,
Does the promising Primrose Dame.
419
Soliciting Votes, she is not shy,
Will let you light your pipe at her eye,—
Kindle your fire with her flame;
But beware of the Snare when you see the smile,
Under the Primrose she can beguile.
'Tis the Beaconsfield Primrose Dame!
Will let you light your pipe at her eye,—
Kindle your fire with her flame;
But beware of the Snare when you see the smile,
Under the Primrose she can beguile.
'Tis the Beaconsfield Primrose Dame!
“Refreshments at five, in the Primrose Bower!
You will come? You will wear it? My favourite flower?
His flower who gave it his fame!”
And the touch is of velvet, the look is of love:
But beware of the claw that is sheathed in the glove
Of the Beaconsfield Primrose Dame.
You will come? You will wear it? My favourite flower?
His flower who gave it his fame!”
And the touch is of velvet, the look is of love:
But beware of the claw that is sheathed in the glove
Of the Beaconsfield Primrose Dame.
She will scatter her perfume around you in showers,
Wrung from the lives of our Human Flowers,
Without thought of shame or blame;
And the Roses of Health, that were ruthlessly torn
From the cheeks of your Children are wantonly worn
In the Robe of the Primrose Dame.
Wrung from the lives of our Human Flowers,
Without thought of shame or blame;
And the Roses of Health, that were ruthlessly torn
From the cheeks of your Children are wantonly worn
In the Robe of the Primrose Dame.
She simply asks to be mounted astride
The British Lion—thinks she can guide,
And the rampant animal tame,
If he will only give her his trust;
If he will only kneel down in the dust
To carry the Primrose Dame.
The British Lion—thinks she can guide,
And the rampant animal tame,
If he will only give her his trust;
If he will only kneel down in the dust
To carry the Primrose Dame.
Her charm for leading the beast by the nose
Is the brazenest image, a gilt primrose,—
What a meal for an empty wame!
You Flower of Shams, with your counterfeit,
If the Brute should be tempted either to eat,—
Let us pray for the Primrose Dame!
Is the brazenest image, a gilt primrose,—
What a meal for an empty wame!
You Flower of Shams, with your counterfeit,
If the Brute should be tempted either to eat,—
Let us pray for the Primrose Dame!
| My Lyrical Life | |