Feminine Vanity
Feminine Vanity! O ye Gods! Hear to this man!
As if silk and velvet and feathers and fur
And jewels and gold had been just for her,
Since the world began!
Where is his memory? Let him look back—all of the way!
Let him study the history of his race
From the first he-savage that painted his face
To the dude of to-day!
Vanity! Oh! Are the twists and curls,
The intricate patterns in red, black, and blue,
The wearisome tortures of rich tattoo,
Just made for girls?
Is it only the squaw who files the teeth,
And dangles the lip, and bores the ear,
And wears bracelet and necklet and anklet as queer
As the bones beneath?
Look at the soldier, the noble, the king!
Egypt or Greece or Rome discloses
The purples and perfumes and gems and roses
On a masculine thing!
Look at the men of our own dark ages!
Heroes too, in their cloth of gold,
With jewels as thick as the cloth could hold,
On the knights and pages!
We wear false hair? Our man looks big!
But it’s not so long, let me beg to state,
Since every gentleman shaved his pate
And wore a wig.
French heels? Sharp toes? See our feet defaced?
But there was a day when the soldier free
Tied the toe of his shoe to the manly knee—
Yes, and even his waist!
We pad and stuff? Our man looks bolder.
Don’t speak of the time when a bran-filled bunch
Made an English gentleman look like Punch—
But feel of his shoulder!
Feminine Vanity! O ye Gods! Hear to these men!
Vanity’s wide as the world is wide!
Look at the peacock in his pride—
Is it a hen?