_Words of Comfort to be Scratched on a Mirror_ Helen of Troy had a wandering glance; Sappho's restriction was only the sky; Ninon was ever the chatter of France; But oh, what a good girl am I! _Men_ They hail you as their morning star Because you are the way you are. If you return the sentiment, They'll try to make you different; And once they have you, safe and sound, They want to change you all around. Your moods and ways they put a curse on; They'd make of you another person. They cannot let you go your gait; They influence and educate. They'd alter all that they admired. They make me sick, they make me tired. _News Item_ Men seldom make passes At girls who wear glasses. _Song of One of the Girls_ Here in my heart I am Helen; I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least. I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Staël; I'm Salomé, moon of the East. Here in my soul I am Sappho; Lady Hamilton am I, as well. In me Récamier vies with Kitty O'Shea, With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell. I'm of the glamorous ladies At whose beckoning history shook. But you are a man, and see only my pan, So I stay at home with a book. _Lullaby_ Sleep, pretty lady, the night is enfolding you, Drift, and so lightly, on crystalline streams. Wrapped in its perfumes, the darkness is holding you; Starlight bespangles the way of your dreams. Chorus the nightingales, wistfully amorous; Blessedly quiet, the blare of the day. All the sweet hours may your visions be glamorous,-- Sleep, pretty lady, as long as you may. Sleep, pretty lady, the night shall be still for you; Silvered and silent, it watches your rest. Each little breeze, in its eagerness, will for you Murmur the melodies ancient and blest. So in the midnight does happiness capture us; Morning is dim with another day's tears. Give yourself sweetly to images rapturous,-- Sleep, pretty lady, a couple of years. Sleep, pretty lady, the world awaits day with you; Girlish and golden, the slender young moon. Grant the fond darkness its mystical way with you, Morning returns to us ever too soon. Roses unfold, in their loveliness, all for you; Blossom the lilies for hope of your glance. When you're awake, all the men go and fall for you,-- Sleep, pretty lady, and give me a chance. _Faut de Mieux_ Travel, trouble, music, art, A kiss, a frock, a rhyme,-- I never said they feed my heart, But still they pass my time. _Roundel_ She's passing fair; but so demure is she So quiet is her gown, so smooth her hair, That few there are who note her and agree She's passing fair.