Volume 146 — THE SPECTRUM.
Reading edition
According to the Ladies' Press, Who would be really smart must dress In crimson puce or purple hair: My Phyllis doesn't leave it there, But less than ever doth she seem Content with Nature's colour-scheme. Her brow is scarlet; week by week New tints bedeck her maiden cheek. (To-day they wear the pleasing hue Which Fashion calls "electric" blue, And, when their owner's startled, show A healthy blush of indigo.) Her sense of artistry appears In what she does about her ears; With colours of the naval sort She marks the starboard from the port. Her lips are lemon; underneath Appear her willow-pattern teeth.
But when, to serve another end, She threatened to adopt a blend Of tints with which I cannot cope— The green and white and heliotrope, "You know," said I, "your business best; Myself, I lose all interest." In other words, it may be said, My love for you is frankly dead." "Alas," she answered, "and alack!" ... Her nose is now in mourning (black).
