IV. The Ball

Before the splendors of the Ball
The Boldest Metaphor grows tame;
Superlatives abjectly crawl
Back to their lexicon in shame,
And Synonyms in shrieking chorus
Take refuge in the deep Thesaurus.

But language has its Pioneers,
Who seek Fresh Words and Postures new,
Slang rushes in where Syntax fears
To tread—so I for Ade halloo,
And say (with George’s kind permission)
It was “A Heated Proposition.”

The Princess never dreamed her frock
Of gold was wrought by fairy power.
And set, like an alarming Clock,
To go off at the midnight hour.
Her childish laugh rang with delight:
“Thank God-mamma’s not here to-night.”

Prince Charming looked his very best
To—I mean at—the Ladies Fair;
No dread foreboding stirred his breast;
No Writing on the Wall was there
To Tell him of the Awful Shock
Awaiting him at Twelve O’clock.