Classic Poem

Yet womanhood you reverence,
So you profess! HE :
With heart and soul. SHE :
Of which fact this is evidence!
To help Art-study, — for some dole
Of certain wretched shillings, — you
Induce a woman — virgin too —
To strip and stand stark-naked? HE :
True. SHE :

Nor feel you so degrade her? HE :
What
— (Excuse the interruption) — clings
Half-savage-like around your hat? SHE :
Ah, do they please you? Wild-bird-wings!
Next season, — Paris-prints assert, —
We must go feathered to the skirt:
My modiste keeps on the alert.

Owls, hawks, jays — swallows most approve . . . HE :
Dare I speak plainly? SHE :
Oh, I trust! HE :
Then, Lady Blanche, it less would move
In heart and soul of me disgust
Did you strip off those spoils you wear,
And stand — for thanks, not shillings — bare,
To help Art like my Model there.
She well knew what absolved her — praise
In me for God's surpassing good,
Who granted to my reverent gaze
A type of purest womanhood.
You — clothed with murder of His best
Of harmless beings — stand the test!
What is it you know? SHE :
That you jest!