LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE:NEW STYLE(REFORMER, UPLIFTER, SOCIAL SERVICER AND BELIEVER IN BETTERMENT)BY ANNE O’HAGANWITH A PICTURE BY E. L. BLUMENSCHEINLADY CLARA:NEW STYLE
(REFORMER, UPLIFTER, SOCIAL SERVICER AND BELIEVER IN BETTERMENT)
BY ANNE O’HAGAN
WITH A PICTURE BY E. L. BLUMENSCHEIN
LADY CLARA:NEW STYLE
LADY CLARA:NEW STYLE
LADYCLARAVERE DEVERE,Though, ’neath the Tennysonian frown,You’ve ceased to play at hearts, what needFor throwingallthe graces down?The quip, the wile, the wingèd smile,Must these in truth be quite retired,Reformer of a thousand ills,O lady with a mission fired?Lady Clara Vere de Vere,You cause a tumult in my head.I do not know how many quartsOf coal-tar every year are fedIn store-made pies, or what dread dyesGive that bright emerald to canned peas.I do not know the cure for graft,Or juvenile delinquencies;And, oh, my very soul is sickOf these and topics like to these!Lady Clara Vere de Vere,On suffragism you’ve a view.You have one on the cost of war,And what the working-girl should do.Your uplift crusade comprehendsThe stage, the mart, the funeral bier;Your dinner-table talk has grownStatistical and very drear.Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,By yon blue heavens above us bent,The gardener Adam and his wifeYawn at your plans for betterment.We never see such sad ennuiAmong our hapless human broodAs when the ladies’ motto runs:“’Tis fashionable to do good.”·······Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,If time hangs heavy on your hands,Are there no suitors at your gates,No squires of dames about your lands?Go, play the game of hearts again,Coquette, and sparkle, languish, glow;Ask pardon of the folk you’ve bored,And let the thousand causes go!
LADYCLARAVERE DEVERE,Though, ’neath the Tennysonian frown,You’ve ceased to play at hearts, what needFor throwingallthe graces down?The quip, the wile, the wingèd smile,Must these in truth be quite retired,Reformer of a thousand ills,O lady with a mission fired?Lady Clara Vere de Vere,You cause a tumult in my head.I do not know how many quartsOf coal-tar every year are fedIn store-made pies, or what dread dyesGive that bright emerald to canned peas.I do not know the cure for graft,Or juvenile delinquencies;And, oh, my very soul is sickOf these and topics like to these!Lady Clara Vere de Vere,On suffragism you’ve a view.You have one on the cost of war,And what the working-girl should do.Your uplift crusade comprehendsThe stage, the mart, the funeral bier;Your dinner-table talk has grownStatistical and very drear.Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,By yon blue heavens above us bent,The gardener Adam and his wifeYawn at your plans for betterment.We never see such sad ennuiAmong our hapless human broodAs when the ladies’ motto runs:“’Tis fashionable to do good.”·······Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,If time hangs heavy on your hands,Are there no suitors at your gates,No squires of dames about your lands?Go, play the game of hearts again,Coquette, and sparkle, languish, glow;Ask pardon of the folk you’ve bored,And let the thousand causes go!
LADYCLARAVERE DEVERE,Though, ’neath the Tennysonian frown,You’ve ceased to play at hearts, what needFor throwingallthe graces down?The quip, the wile, the wingèd smile,Must these in truth be quite retired,Reformer of a thousand ills,O lady with a mission fired?
LADYCLARAVERE DEVERE,
Though, ’neath the Tennysonian frown,
You’ve ceased to play at hearts, what need
For throwingallthe graces down?
The quip, the wile, the wingèd smile,
Must these in truth be quite retired,
Reformer of a thousand ills,
O lady with a mission fired?
Lady Clara Vere de Vere,You cause a tumult in my head.I do not know how many quartsOf coal-tar every year are fedIn store-made pies, or what dread dyesGive that bright emerald to canned peas.I do not know the cure for graft,Or juvenile delinquencies;And, oh, my very soul is sickOf these and topics like to these!
Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
You cause a tumult in my head.
I do not know how many quarts
Of coal-tar every year are fed
In store-made pies, or what dread dyes
Give that bright emerald to canned peas.
I do not know the cure for graft,
Or juvenile delinquencies;
And, oh, my very soul is sick
Of these and topics like to these!
Lady Clara Vere de Vere,On suffragism you’ve a view.You have one on the cost of war,And what the working-girl should do.Your uplift crusade comprehendsThe stage, the mart, the funeral bier;Your dinner-table talk has grownStatistical and very drear.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
On suffragism you’ve a view.
You have one on the cost of war,
And what the working-girl should do.
Your uplift crusade comprehends
The stage, the mart, the funeral bier;
Your dinner-table talk has grown
Statistical and very drear.
Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,By yon blue heavens above us bent,The gardener Adam and his wifeYawn at your plans for betterment.We never see such sad ennuiAmong our hapless human broodAs when the ladies’ motto runs:“’Tis fashionable to do good.”·······Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,If time hangs heavy on your hands,Are there no suitors at your gates,No squires of dames about your lands?Go, play the game of hearts again,Coquette, and sparkle, languish, glow;Ask pardon of the folk you’ve bored,And let the thousand causes go!
Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,
By yon blue heavens above us bent,
The gardener Adam and his wife
Yawn at your plans for betterment.
We never see such sad ennui
Among our hapless human brood
As when the ladies’ motto runs:
“’Tis fashionable to do good.”
·······
Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,
If time hangs heavy on your hands,
Are there no suitors at your gates,
No squires of dames about your lands?
Go, play the game of hearts again,
Coquette, and sparkle, languish, glow;
Ask pardon of the folk you’ve bored,
And let the thousand causes go!
Tailpiece Clara Vere de Vere