FORMAL, quaint, precise, and trim, You begin your steps demurely--There's a spirit almost prim In the feet that move so surely, So discreetly, to the chime Of the music that so sweetly Marks the time.
But the chords begin to tinkle Quicker, And your feet they flash and flicker--Twinkle!--Flash and flutter to a tricksy Fickle meter;
And you foot it like a pixie--Only fleeter!
Now our current, dowdy Things--"Turkey-trots" and rowdy Flings--For they made you overseas In politer times than these, In an age when grace could please, Ere St. Vitus Clutched and shook us, spine and knees;--Loosed a plague of jerks to smite us!
Well, our day is far more brisk And our manner rather slacker), And you are nothing more than bisque And lacquer--But you shame us with the graces Of courtlier times and places When the cheap And vulgar wasn't "art"--When the faunal prance and leap Weren't "smart."
Have we lost the trick of wedding Grace to pleasure?
Must we clown it at the bidding Of some tawdry, common measure?
Can't you school us in the graces Of your pose and dainty paces?--Now the chords begin to tinkle Quicker--And your feet they flash and flicker--Twinkle!--And you mock us as you featly Swing and flutter to the chime Of the music-box that sweetly Marks the time!
