T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
A Ballad of Men I Have Vamped—In Vain
Anonymous(American. c. 1920) OF virtue in woman and honor in man | |
| Has many a bard sung the praise; | |
| And if I now mention the subject again | |
| It’s distinctively a negative phase, | |
| For while virtue and honor are well in their ways | 5 |
| One wearies at length of their clutch, | |
| Especially when it inspires the phrase | |
| “Yes, dear, but I love you too much.” | |
| These modern young men who write books about sex | |
| All say, “To be chaste is a sin! | 10 |
| Live life to the full without hindrance or checks! | |
| None too young or too old to begin.” | |
| But for the deplorable plight that I’m in— | |
| (And you’ll surely admit it is such)— | |
| They have no reply but an asinine grin | 15 |
| And a “Really, I like you too much.” | |
| There are brave men a plenty, the newspapers say, | |
| Who rape and seduce all the time— | |
| But none of them happen to come ’round my way. | |
| My friends don’t seem given to crime. | 20 |
| For bridge or theatres or parties they’re prime | |
| And they don’t seem to shrink at my touch. | |
| But their failing (which goaded me into this rhyme) | |
| Is that all of them like me too much. | |
| It’s not that I go in for Passion myself— | 25 |
| I find it a terrible bore— | |
| But a virgin can have no respect for herself | |
| In this day of the glorified whore. | |
| So I call at young hopefuls’ apartments galore, | |
| But, when safe in a masculine clutch, | 30 |
| I imply my intentions, they show me the door, | |
| And assure me they like me too much. | |
| Are they cowards, or heroes, these diffident males? | |
| Do they brave every feminine shell? | |
| Or is it my personal presence that fails | 35 |
| To intrigue them? I never can tell; | |
| For experts have said I make love very well | |
| Still I must lack the magical touch— | |
| For they praise and admire and love me—but Hell! | |
| They—all of them—like me too much. | 40 |
ENVOI: You, prince, who have hardly ventured to learn | |
| Of the men I have vainly ensnared, | |
| I’ve done as you bid me, and ask in return | |
| Whether you, in their place, would have dared. | |
| And this I implore you, don’t ever get scared, | 45 |
| And when virgins entreat your fond touch— | |
| Do whatever you feel that the Fates have prepared— | |
| But don’t tell them you like them too much. | |