She wanted to reach an ideal;
She talked of the lovely in art,
She quoted from Emerson's Essays,
And said she thought Howells had "heart."
She doted on Wagner's productions,
She thought comic opera low,
And she played trying tunes on a zither,
Keeping time with a sandal-shod toe.
She had dreams of a nobler existence—
A bifurcated, corsetless place,
Where women would stand free and equal
As queens of a glorious race.
But her biscuits were deadly creations
That caused people's spirits to sink,
And she'd views on matters religious
That drove her relations to drink.
She'd opinions on co-education,
But not an idea on cake;
She could analyse Spencer or Browning,
But the new kitchen range wouldn't bake.
She wanted to be esoteric,
And she wore the most classical clothes;
But she ended by being hysteric
And contracting a cold in her nose.
She studied of forces hypnotic,
She believed in theosophy quite,
She understood themes prehistoric
And said that the faith cure was right.
She wanted to reach the ideal,
And at clods unpoetic would rail,
And her husband wore fringe on his trousers
And fastened them on with a nail!