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VANITY FAIR
In Vanity Fair, as we bow and smile,
As we talk of the opera after the weather,
As we chat of fashion and fad and style,
We know we are playing a part together.
You know that the mirth she wears, she borrows;
She knows you laugh but to hide your sorrows;
We know that under the silks and laces,
And back of beautiful, beaming faces,
Lie secret trouble and grim despair,
In Vanity Fair.
In Vanity Fair, on dress parade,
Our colours look bright and our swords are gleaming;
But many a uniform’s worn and frayed,
And most of the weapons, despite their seeming,
Are dull and blunted and badly battered,
And close inspection will show how tattered
And stained are the banners that float above us.
Our comrades hate, while they swear to love us;
And robed like Pleasure walks gaunt-eyed Care,
In Vanity Fair.
In Vanity Fair, as we strive for place,
As we rush and jostle and crowd and hurry,
We know the goal is not worth the race—
We know the prize is not worth the worry;
That all our gain means loss for another;
That in fighting for self we wound each other;
That the crown of success weighs hard and presses
The brow of the victor with thorns—not caresses;
That honours are empty and worthless to wear,
In Vanity Fair.
But in Vanity Fair, as we pass along,
We meet strong hearts that are worth the knowing
’Mong poor paste jewels that deck the throng,
We see a solitaire sometimes glowing.
We find grand souls under robes of fashion,
’Neath light demeanours hide strength and passion;
And fair fine honour and godlike resistance
In halls of pleasure may have existence;
And we find pure altars and shrines of prayer
In Vanity Fair.
ABOUT MAY
One night Nurse Sleep held out her hand
To tired little May.
“Come, go with me to Wonderland,”
She said, “I know the way.
Just rock-a-by—hum-m-m,
And lo! we come
To the place where the dream-girls play.”
But naughty May, she wriggled away
From Sleep’s soft arms, and said:
“I must stay awake till I eat my cake,
And then I will go to bed;
With a by-lo, away I will go.”
But the good nurse shook her head.
She shook her head and away she sped,
While May sat munching her crumb.
But after the cake there came an ache,
Though May cried: “Come, Sleep, come,
And it’s oh! my! let us by-lo-by”—
All save the echoes were dumb.
She ran after Sleep toward Wonderland,
Ran till the morning light;
And just as she caught her and grasped her hand,
A nightmare gave her a fright.
And it’s by-lo, I hope she’ll know
Better another night.
DELL AND I
In a mansion grand, just over the way
Lives bonny, beautiful Dell;
You may have heard of this lady gay,
For she is a famous belle.
I live in a low cot opposite—
You never have heard of me;
For when the lady moon shines bright,
Who would a pale star see?
But ah, well! ah, well! I am happier far than Dell,
As strange as that may be.
Dell has robes of the richest kind—
Pinks and purples and blues;
And she worries her maid and frets her mind
To know which one to choose.
Which shall it be now, silk or lace?
In which will I be most fair?
She stands by the mirror with anxious face,
And her maid looks on in despair.
Ah, well! ah, well! I am not worried, you see, like Dell,
For I have but one to wear.
Dell has lovers of every grade,
Of every age and style;
Suitors flutter about the maid,
And bask in her word and smile.
She keeps them all, with a coquette’s art,
As suits her mood or mirth,
And vainly wonders if in one heart
Of all true love has birth.
Ah, well! ah, well! I never question myself like Dell,
For I know a true heart’s worth.
Pleasure to Dell seems stale and old,
Often she sits and sighs;
Life to me is a tale untold,
Each day is a glad surprise.
Dell will marry, of course, some day,
After her belleship is run;
She will cavil the matter in worldly way
And wed Dame Fortune’s son
But, ah, well! sweet to tell, I shall not dally and choose like Dell,
For I love and am loved by—one.