Элла Уилкокс (Ella Wheeler Wilcox)

Æsthetic

In a garb that was guiltless of colours
   She stood, with a dull, listless air-
A creature of dumps and of dolours,
   But most undeniably fair.

The folds of her garment fell round her,
   Revealing the curve of each limb;
Well proportioned and graceful I found her,
   Although quite alarmingly slim.

From the hem of her robe peeped one sandal-
   “High art” was she down to her feet;
And though I could not understand all
   She said, I could see she was sweet.

Impressed by her limpness and languor,
   I proffered a chair near at hand;
She looked back a mild sort of anger-
   Posed anew, and continued to stand.

Some praises I next tried to mutter
   Of the fan that she held to her face;
She said it was “utterly utter,”
   And waved it with languishing grace.

I then, in a strain quite poetic,
   Begged her gaze on the bow in the sky,
She looked-said its curve was “Г¦sthetic.”
   But the “tone was too dreadfully high.”

Her lovely face, lit by the splendour
   That glorified landscape and sea,
Woke thoughts that were daring and tender:
   Did her thoughts, too, rest upon me?

“Oh, tell me,” I cried, growing bolder,
   “Have I in your musings a place?”
“Well, yes,” she said over her shoulder:
   “I was thinking of nothing in space.”

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