TO A DANCING DOLL

FORMAL, quaint, precise, and trim,

You begin your steps demurely —

There's a spirit almost prim

In the feet that move so surely,

So discreetly, to the chime

Of the music that so sweetly

Marks the time.

But the chords begin to tinkle

Quicker,

And your feet they flash and flicker —

Twinkle!—

Flash and flutter to a tricksy

Fickle meter;

And you foot it like a pixie —

Only fleeter!

Now our current, dowdy

Things —

“Turkey-trots” and rowdy

Flings —

For they made you overseas

In politer times than these,

In an age when grace could please,

Ere St. Vitus

Clutched and shook us, spine and knees;—

Loosed a plague of jerks to smite us!

Well, our day is far more brisk

And our manner rather slacker ),

And you are nothing more than bisque

And lacquer —

But you shame us with the graces

Of courtlier times and places

When the cheap

And vulgar was n't “art” —

When the faunal prance and leap

Were n't “smart.”

Have we lost the trick of wedding

Grace to pleasure?

Must we clown it at the bidding

Of some tawdry, common measure?

Ca n't you school us in the graces

Of your pose and dainty paces?—

Now the chords begin to tinkle

Quicker —

And your feet they flash and flicker —

Twinkle!—

And you mock us as you featly

Swing and flutter to the chime

Of the music-box that sweetly

Marks the time!