The Lady in the Furs

“I’m a lofty lovely woman,”
Says the lady in the furs,
In the glance she throws around her
On the poorer dames and sirs:
“This robe, that cost three figures,
Yes, is mine,” her nod avers.

“True, my money did not buy it,
But my husband’s, from the trade;
And they, they only got it
From things feeble and afraid
By murdering them in ambush
With a cunning engine’s aid.

“True, my hands, too, did not shape it
To the pretty cut you see,
But the hands of midnight workers
Who are strangers quite to me:
It was fitted, too, by dressers
Ranged around me toilsomely.

“But I am a lovely lady,
Though sneerers say I shine
By robbing Nature’s children
Of apparel not mine,
And that I am but a broom-stick,
Like a scarecrow’s wooden spine.”