St. James's corridors are long
As Art, as Life thy raiment brief is
(Except the train, of course)--and strong
Mamma's relief is.

In vulgar phrase, "Your mother knows
You're _out_," at length. Such triumphs too dear
Are sometimes purchased. I suppose
She fidgets you, dear.

"The Countess!--bow, child, to the Earl!--
Those terrible HYDE PARKES! Their posies
Look quite too vulgar; cut them, girl.
How red your nose is!

"Quick! take the powder-puff, my love--
Not on your bouquet or your hair now!--
Don't bungle so; you'll drop that glove--
Please take more care now.

"You stoop like any _bourgeoise_ chit.
Who'd think you educated highly?
No, not so stiff. Do blush a bit,
And simper shyly."

Ah! Maiden fair of cloudless air.
This kind of thing is hardly pleasant.
Indeed, I'm thankful not to wear
Thy shoes at present!