Sunday, February 22, 2015

To A Star High In Art



What if she kicks above her head, and wears but sparkling tights?
She’s fair to see, and loveth me, and has her woman’s rights;
Although her stage robe be so small, her heart is good and big,
And beats as true ‘neath green and blue, as any other rig.

What if she dances every night behind the footlight’s glare?
What if a score of boys or more without a straggling hair
Sit staring from the orchestra? It doesn’t spoil her art;
For art it be, her dancing free, that captures every heart.

My parents do not like her, and my sisters raise a fuss;
They cannot see why men like me love such a gaudy huss.
They paint and play, and chisel in stone, and sport a wealthy beau,
And if art, she has a part, it’s very, very low.

What if she kicks above her head, and flits around in tights?
An artist she, that loveth me, and she has her woman’s rights;
And that her art is low at all, I never will agree;
With ease she kicks just six foot six, what higher art could be?



Feb. 22, 1895
Pub. in B. Courier, June 9, 1895

Sent to N.Y. World Apr. 13, ’95, and supposing it lost, I sent it to B. Courier. Accepted by N.Y. World, June 20, 1895. 

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