The Summer Girl
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
She's the jauntiest of creatures, she's the daintiest of misses
With her pretty patent leathers or her alligator ties,
With her eyes inviting glances and her lips inviting kisses,
As she wanders by the ocean or strolls under country skies.
She's a captivating dresser, and her parasols are stunning,
Her fads will take your breath away, her hats are dreams of style
She is not so very bookish, but with repartee and punning
She can set the savants laughing and make even dudelets smile.
She has no attacks of talent, she is not a stage struck maiden
She is wholly free from hobbies, and she dreams of no
She is mostly gay and happy, never sad or care beladen,
Though she sometimes sighs a little if a gentle man is near.
She's a sturdy little walker and she braves all kinds of weather,
And when the rain or fog or mist drive rival crimps a-wreck,
Her fluffy hair goes curling like a kinked-up ostrich feather
Around her ears and forehead and the white nape of her neck.
She is like a fish in water; she can handle reins and racket;
From head to toe and finger-tips she's thoroughly alive;
When she goes promenading in a most distracting jacket,
The rustle round her feet suggests how laun dresses may thrive.
She can dare the wind and sunshine in the most bravado manner,
And after hours of sailing she has merely cheeks of rose;
Old Sol himself seems smitten and at most will only tan her,
Though to everybody else he gives a danger-signal nose.
She's a trifle sentimental, and she's fond of admiration,
And she sometimes flirts a little in the season's giddy whirl;
But win her if you can, sir, she may prove your life's salvation,
For an angel masquerading oft is she, the summer girl.
Source:How Salvator Won And Other Recitations
Edgar S. Werner, New York