T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
Lily Dale
By John Davidson (18571909)(From In a Music Hall, 1891) SHE’S thirty, this feminine cove, | |
And she looks it at hand, you’ll allow. | |
I was once on the streets. By Jove, | |
I was handsomer then than now. | |
Thin lips? Oh, you bet! and deep lines. | 5 |
So I powder and paint as you see; | |
And that’s belladonna that shines | |
Where a dingier light ought to be. | |
But I’m plump, and my legs—do you doubt me?— | |
You’ll see when I go on the stage! | 10 |
And there isn’t a pad, sir, about me; | |
I’m a proper good girl for my age! | |
I can’t sing a bit, I can’t shout; | |
But I go through my songs with a birr; | |
And I always contrive to bring out | 15 |
The meaning that tickles you, sir. | |
They were written for me; they’re the rage; | |
They’re the plainest, the wildest, the shyest; | |
For I find on the music-hall stage, | |
That that kind of song goes the highest. | 20 |
So I give it them hot, with a glance | |
Like the crack of a whip—oh, it stings! | |
And a still, fiery smile, and a dance | |
That indicates naughtiest things. | |
And I like it. It isn’t the best: | 25 |
There are nurses, and nuns, and good wives; | |
But life’s pretty much of a jest, | |
And you can’t very well lead two lives. | |
But sometimes wild eyes will grow tame, | |
And a voice have a tone—ah, you men!— | 30 |
And a beard please me—oh, there’s my name! | |
Well? I take a week’s holiday then. | |