All night long the darling daughter squirms Wild where the Toddle and Shimmy vie In making passion virtuous and correct, That nature may be told just one more lie. Her mother is a lorgnette scanning all The eligible men upon the floor: She thinks of what their great-grandfathers did, Eschewing her darling might become their whore. A spade is not a spade, and it is just That any tremulous twisting of her lips Should be mere prettiness, or call it grace The @3canto amoroso@1 of her hips. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BOOK OF AIRS SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION O SLEEP, MY BABE! by SARA COLERIDGE THE STORMING OF STONY POINT [JULY 16, 1779] by ARTHUR GUITERMAN THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 49. WILLOWWOOD (1) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI BARCLAY OF URY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO A WILD DUCK by BERNICE GIBBS ANDERSON |