The World, December 4, 1906

The Frozen Face.

[A writer in a weekly paper complains that Society affects the cold, expressionless face to too great an extent just now.]

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
   Of me you shall not win renown;
I hate the tilted Gibson chin,
   The supercilious Dana frown.
You seem to eye me when I’m by
   As one who never would be missed;
As who should say, “I wonder why
   This is permitted to exist?”

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
   I must admit I liked you best
When you would condescend to smile,
   And even chuckle at my jest.
But now my lips can frame no quips
   That have the power to entertain;
I try my latest epigram;
   You raise your eyebrows in disdain.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
   To Fashion you, of course, must bow,
And animation, I am told,
   Is looked upon as bourgeois now.
But still it’s strange how fashions change,
   And I shall not cease hoping for
The day when you’ll give up the strain
   And be your charming self once more.



Printed unsigned in The World; title entered by Wodehouse in Money Received for Literary Work for this date.