To Fashion

Fashion! Lovely Dame!
Pledge in sparkling wine!
Let us add her name
To the Muses' nine!

Though the lovely Nin
All should pass away
Why should Woman pine,
If but Fashion stay?

Tho' the Muses' lore
Molder on the shelf,
Still may She adore
In Fashion's glass--Herself.

Oliver Herford

Oliver Herford was born in England on December 2, 1860. He was a British-born American writer, artist, and illustrator, often referred to as 'The American Oscar Wilde' for his sharp wit and humorous works. Herford authored and illustrated many books for children and adults, contributing to magazines such as "The Criterion", "Life", and "Punch". He died on July 5, 1935, in France.

Oliver Herford

The Ph[oe]nix

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Ant.

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Mongoos.

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

Facilis Ascensus

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

English

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The Furniture Of A Woman's Mind

A set of phrases learn'd by rote;
A passion for a scarlet coat;
When at a play, to laugh or cry,
Yet cannot tell the reason why;
Never to hold her tongue a minute,
While all she prates has nothing in it;
Whole hours can with a coxcomb sit,
And take his nonsense all for wit;
Her learning mounts to read a song,
But half the words pronouncing wrong;
Has every repartee in store
She spoke ten thousand times before;
Can ready compliments supply
On all occasions cut and dry;
Such hatred to a parson's gown,
The sight would put her in a swoon;
For conversation well endued,
She calls it witty to be rude;
And, placing raillery in railing,
Will tell aloud your greatest failing;
Nor make a scruple to expose
Your bandy leg, or crooked nose;
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The Fancy Fair.

Come, maids and youths, for here we sell
    All wondrous things of earth and air;
Whatever wild romancers tell,
    Or poets sing, or lovers swear,
    You'll find at this our Fancy Fair.

Here eyes are made like stars to shine,
    And kept for years in such repair,
That even when turned of thirty-nine,
    They'll hardly look the worse for wear,
    If bought at this our Fancy Fair.

We've lots of tears for bards to shower,
    And hearts that such ill usage bear,
That, tho' they're broken every hour,
    They'll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear,
    If purchased at our Fancy Fair.

As fashions change in every thing,
    We've goods to suit each season's air,
Eternal friendships for the spring,
    And endless loves for summer wea...

Thomas Moore

Odes From Horace. - [1]To Telephus. Book The Third, Ode The Nineteenth.

The number of the vanish'd years
    That mark each famous Grecian reign,
This night, my Telephus, appears
    Thy solemn pleasure to explain;

Or else assiduously to dwell,
    In conscious eloquence elate,
On those who conquer'd, those who fell
    At sacred Troy's devoted gate.

But at what price the cask, so rare,
    Of luscious chian may be ours,
Who shall the tepid baths prepare,
    And who shall strew the blooming flowers;

Beneath what roof we next salute,
    And when shall smile these gloomy skies,
Thy wondrous eloquence is mute,
    Nor here may graver topics rise. -

Fill a bright bumper, - to the Moon!
    She's new! - auspicious be her birth!
One to the Midnight! - 't is our noon
    Of jocund thought, and fes...

Anna Seward

To The Eleven Ladies

Who Presented Me With A Silver Loving Cup On The Twenty-Ninth Of August, M Dccc Lxxxix

"Who gave this cup?" The secret thou wouldst steal
Its brimming flood forbids it to reveal:
No mortal's eye shall read it till he first
Cool the red throat of thirst.

If on the golden floor one draught remain,
Trust me, thy careful search will be in vain;
Not till the bowl is emptied shalt thou know
The names enrolled below.

Deeper than Truth lies buried in her well
Those modest names the graven letters spell
Hide from the sight; but wait, and thou shalt see
Who the good angels be.

Whose bounty glistens in the beauteous gift
That friendly hands to loving lips shall lift
Turn the fair goblet when its floor is dry, -
Their names shall meet thine eye.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Beauty's Wardrobe

My love said she had nought to wear;
Her garments all were old,
And soon her body must go bare
Against the winter's cold.

I took her out into the dawn,
And from the mountain's crest
Unwound long wreaths of misty lawn,
And wound them round her breast.

Then passed we to the maple grove,
Like a great hall of gold,
The yellow and the red we wove
In rustling flounce and fold.

"Now, love," said I, "go, do it on!
And I would have you note
No lovely lady dead and gone
Had such a petticoat."

Then span I out of milkweeds fine
Fair stockings soft and long,
And other things of quaint design
That unto maids belong.

And beads of amber and of pearl
About her neck I strung,
And in the bronze of her thick hair
Th...

Richard Le Gallienne

Drink To Her.

Drink to her, who long,
    Hath waked the poet's sigh.
The girl, who gave to song
    What gold could never buy.
Oh! woman's heart was made
    For minstrel hands alone;
By other fingers played,
    It yields not half the tone.
Then here's to her, who long
    Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
    What gold could never buy.

At Beauty's door of glass,
    When Wealth and Wit once stood,
They asked her 'which might pass?"
    She answered, "he, who could."
With golden key Wealth thought
    To pass--but 'twould not do:
While Wit a diamond brought,
    Which cut his bright way through.
So here's to her, who long
    Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl, who gave to song
    What gold could never...

Thomas Moore