["Why do so many people sing in the bathroom?... The note is struck for
them by the running water. While the voice sounds resonantly in the
bath-room it is not half so fine and inspiring when the song is
continued in the dressing-room. The reason is that the furniture of the
dressing-room tends to deaden the reverberations."--_Prof. W.H. BRAGG
on "The World of Sound."_]
When to my morning tub I go,
With towel, dressing-gown and soap,
Then most, the while I puff and blow,
My soul with song doth overflow
(Not unmelodiously, I hope).
The plashing of the H. and C.
Castalian stimulus affords;
I reach with ease an upper G
And, like the wild swan, carol free
The gamut of my vocal chords.
And when, my pure ablutions o'er,
The larynx fairly gets to work,
Amid the unplugged water's roar
I caper, trolling round the floor,
In tones as rich as THOMAS BURKE.
But in my dressing-room's retreat
My native wood-notes wilt and sag;
Not there those raptures I repeat;
My bellow now becomes a bleat
(For reasons, ask Professor BRAGG).
So, Ruth, if song may find a path
Still through thy heart, be listening by
The bathroom while I take my bath;
But leave before the aftermath,
Nor while I'm dressing linger nigh.
On the acoustic side, I fear,
My chest of drawers is quite a "dud;"
The chairs would silence Chanticleer,
Nor would I have you overhear
When I have lost my collar-stud.
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