Part 1 — BALLAD OF THE TRAILING SKIRT.
Reading edition
NEW YORK "LIFE."
I met a girl the other day, A girl with golden tresses, Who wore the most bewitching air, And daintiest of dresses.
I gazed at her with kindling eye And admiration utter— Until I saw her silken skirt Was trailing in the gutter!
"What senseless style is this?" I thought; "What new sartorial passion? And who on earth stands sponsor for The idiotic fashion?"
I've asked a dozen maids or more, A tailor and his cutter, But no one knows why skirts are made To drag along the gutter.
Alas for woman, fashion's slave; She does not seem to mind it. Her silk or satin sweeps the street And leaves no filth behind it.
For all the dirt the breezes blow And all the germs that flutter May find a refuge in the gowns That swish along the gutter.
What lovely woman wills to do She does without a reason. To interfere is waste of time, To criticise is treason.
Man's only province is to work To earn his bread and butter— And buy her all the skirts she wants To trail along the gutter.