In the room below the young man sat,
With an anxious face and a white cravat,
A throbbing heart and a silken hat,
And various other things like that
Which he had accumulated.
And the maid of his heart was up above
Surrounded by hat and gown and glove,
And a thousand things which women love,
But no man knoweth the names thereof--
And the young man sat and--waited.
You will scarce believe the things I tell,
But the truth thereof I know full well,
Though how may not be stated;
But I swear to you that the maiden took
A sort of half-breed, thin stove-hook,
And heated it well in the gaslight there.
And thrust it into her head, or hair.
Then she took something off the bed,
And hooked it onto her hair, or head,
And piled it high, and piled it higher,
And drove it home with staples of wire!
And the young man anxiously--waited.
Then she took a thing she called a "puff"
And some very peculiar whitish stuff,
And using about a half a peck,
She spread it over her face and neck,
(Deceit was a thing she hated!)
And she looked as fair as a lilied bower,
Or a pound of lard or a sack of flour;--
And the young man wearily--waited.
Then she took a garment of awful shape
And it wasn't a waist, nor yet a cape,
But it looked like a piece of ancient mail,
Or an instrument from a Russian jail,
And then with a fearful groan and gasp,
She squeezed herself in its deathly clasp--
So fair and yet so fated!
And then with a move like I don't know what,
She tied it on with a double knot;--
And the young man wofully--waited.
Then she put on a dozen different things,
A mixture of buttons and hooks and strings,
Till she strongly resembled a notion store;
Then, taking some seventeen pins or more,
She thrust them into her ruby lips,
Then stuck them around from waist to hips,
And never once hesitated.
And the maiden didn't know, perhaps,
That the man below had had seven naps,
And that now he sleepily--waited.
And then she tried to put on her hat,
Ah me, a trying ordeal was that!
She tipped it high and she tried it low,
But every way that the thing would go
Only made her more agitated.
It wouldn't go straight and it caught her hair,
And she wished she could hire a man to swear,
But alas, the only man lingering there
Was the one who wildly--waited.
And then before she could take her leave,
She had to puff up her monstrous sleeve.
Then a little dab here and a wee pat there.
And a touch or two to her hindmost hair,
Then around the room with the utmost care
She thoughtfully circulated.
Then she seized her gloves and a chamoiskin,
Some breath perfume and a long stickpin,
A bonbon box and a cloak and some
Eau-de-cologne and chewing-gum,
Her opera glass and sealskin muff,
A fan and a heap of other stuff;
Then she hurried down, but ere she spoke,
Something about the maiden broke.
So she scurried back to the winding stair,
And the young man looked in wild despair,
And then he--evaporated.
_Edmund Vance Cooke._