_Cinderella_, you mope and look queer--
You mope, and look dolefully queer;
As chill as JOHN MILLAIS' "_October_,"
As you have done, this many a year.
It is hard on you; MOZART or AUBER
Might fail your depression to cheer--
Had you taken the draught named of Glauber,
You could scarce look duller, my dear

II.

Our times, dear, are truly Titanic,
Perfection seems Science's goal--
Dim, distant, dark Science's goal--
But we're still a bit given to panic.
Monopolies moodily roll--
Monopolies restlessly roll--
That's why there's a movement volcanic
That stirs us from pole unto pole--
A moaning that's vainly volcanic,
In the realms of the (Telegraph) pole.

III.

Deputations are serious and sober,
Officials look palsied and sere--
They indulge in rhetoric small-beer
(Instead of sound sparkling October)
They're frightened about _you_, my dear--
(You, at present in two senses, dear!)