Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс)
The Belle of the Season
Nay, do not bring me the jewels; Away with that robe of white: I am sick of the ball-room, sister, I would rather stay here to-night. "The grandest ball of the season?" "The upper ten thousands' shout?" Yes! yes! I know it, my darling, But I do not care to go. Last night I was thinking deeply, Something I seldom do; You know I came home at midnight; Well, I lay awake till two. I was thinking about my girlhood, Just how I had spent its years, And I blushed for shame, my darling, And my pillow was wet with tears. I have lived in a whirl of fashion, I have kept right up to the style, I have learned how to dance the German, How to bow, and flirt, and smile. I have worn most beautiful dresses, Been the belle of many a ball, I have won the envy of women, And the praise of fops--that's all. Does any one really respect me? Could a single thing be said That would give the mourners pleasure, To-morrow, if I were dead? "She wore such beautiful dresses," "She'd a dozen strings to her bow," "She could waltz like a perfect fairy," Would you like me remembered so? Well, there's nothing else to remember. What thing have I ever done That has made a soul the better Or cheered a hopeless one? I have spent my time and money, The best of my fortune and days, In gaining the envy of women, And making the poor fops gaze. I am going to be a woman, And live for others, awhile, Forgetting myself for a season, Though I know it isn't the style. I am in no mood for the revel; Away with that robe of white, And I will stay here my darling, And talk with my heart to-night.
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