IN her little boudoir of most delicate hue,

With her prettiest chiffons of rose and of blue,

The rich, half-drawn curtains excluding the day,

In a soft demi-jour sits our fair Danae.

Her little white feet, in a riotous grief,

Have kicked off the slippers and found some relief

In the impotent rage; while the listless peignoir

Hangs loose o'er the heart 't is its duty to bar.

And the tapering fingers have savagely torn

A rose where a wire replaces a thorn;

And the last invitation has found a sweet place

'Neath the dainty rose slipper, a time in disgrace.

The neat little clock where a French Cupid stands

With a gilded bow bent in his wee little hands,

Has ticked with a wicked, sardonical glee

At the pitiful sight he was given to see.

For poor Danae, in a moment of ire,

Had thrown the last novel right into the fire,

And sworn with the tenderest oaths of a maid

She would have her own way, and she wished to be wed.

She meant she would marry the poor beggar boy;

That her wealth never gave her a moment of joy;

And that love in a cottage, she told her papa,

Was her eminent sphere and her mariner's star.

A mixture of metaphor; well, let that go, -

Young ladies can't always be critics, you know, -

Still it served to express that our fair Danae

Was fully determined to have her own way.

So Zeus, when he called at his recognized hour,

Was received with a tempest in place of a shower,

And, presenting his heart with his banker's account,

Found the love that he sought was in inverse amount;

And the poor little curate, who called the next day,

Was received in a very encouraging way, -

He was snubbed by papa, scarce he 'd entered the door,

And asked by Ma'm'selle why he 'd not come before.

All people admit that a man is tres-bete

Not to marry a fortune qui tombe sur la tete,

So our good little priest, to his praise be it said,

Murmured grace, and then followed where Danae led.

Thus endeth the tale of our Danae's wooing

With a dozen best men and conventional cooing.

And the moral is short, with a double intent:

To papas: Never fetter young Danae's bent.

To Zeus: When you come you must come in disguise

If you wish to find grace in our Danae's eyes.

And, my dear Danae, my last moral for thee:

If you 're rich and want poverty, please send for me.

Z.