BEYOND DEBATE

Out from the wrought-iron gate

Miss Perdee drives in state;

Miss Perdee wears the thin smile

And the sleeves of 1888.

Miss Perdee's face is stifled as a sonnet;

Upon her wire-tight hair a duck-shaped bonnet

Nests, nodding with a cachepeigne

Of violets on it.

East Bay, some tea and talk, them home by King.

The horses have an antiquated plod;

The team is old, but not too old to balk

If driven north of Broad.

Miss Perdee wears the sure air of a queen,

Which only queens and Perdees can achieve.

The Perdees had blue blood in Adam's veins

When Adam had the rib he gave to Eve.

Back through the wrought-iron gate

Miss Perdee drives in state.

Miss Perdee lives down on the Battery!

Beyond debate.