Mrs. WilliamsI was the millinerTalked about, lied about,Mother of Dora,Whose strange disappearanceWas charged to her rearing.My eye quick to beautySaw much beside ribbonsAnd buckles and feathersAnd leghorns and felts,To set off sweet faces,And dark hair and gold.One thing I will tell youAnd one I will ask:The stealers of husbandsWear powder and trinkets,And fashionable hats.Wives, wear them yourselves.Hats may make divorces—They also prevent them.Well now, let me ask you:If all of the children, born here in Spoon RiverHad been reared by theCounty, somewhere on a farm;And the fathers and mothers had been given their freedomTo live and enjoy, change mates if they wished,Do you think that Spoon RiverHad been any the worse?
I was the millinerTalked about, lied about,Mother of Dora,Whose strange disappearanceWas charged to her rearing.My eye quick to beautySaw much beside ribbonsAnd buckles and feathersAnd leghorns and felts,To set off sweet faces,And dark hair and gold.One thing I will tell youAnd one I will ask:The stealers of husbandsWear powder and trinkets,And fashionable hats.Wives, wear them yourselves.Hats may make divorces—They also prevent them.Well now, let me ask you:If all of the children, born here in Spoon RiverHad been reared by theCounty, somewhere on a farm;And the fathers and mothers had been given their freedomTo live and enjoy, change mates if they wished,Do you think that Spoon RiverHad been any the worse?