When Gladys comes a whisper wakes,
A sudden thrill prevails,
She holds the eyes of men, and takes
The wind out of our sails.
In spite of every art we use,
Their bosoms she transfixes,
And yet I'm glad to know her shoes
Are unromantic sixes.
The frocks that Leonora wears
Are absolutely sweet,
She practices such Frenchy airs
It's hopeless to compete.
Her lace is fine, her silks are thick,
Her sables make one sicken ;
And yet, though Leonora's chic,
She's certainly no chicken.
Diana has a sporting bent
And not a little side,
She's hot upon a screamin' scent
And knows the way to ride.
Her doggy tendencies would please
A print like Mr. Strachey's,
But, though she drops her final G's,
Her father drops his H's.
