Explore "Mrs. Seymour Fentolin" by Oliver Herford on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was Mrs. Seymour Fentolin who stood there, a little dog under / each arm; a large hat, gay with flowers, upon her head. She wore / patent shoes with high heels, and white silk stockings. She had, / indeed, the air of being dressed for luncheon at a fashionable / restaurant. / From a story in _The Popular Magazine_.
The lauded lilies of the field / Who toil not -- neither do they spin, / The palm sartorial must yield / To Mrs. Seymour Fentolin.
A hat, French heels, white stockings, dogs! / Not even Solomon could win / The championship for showy togs / From Mrs. Seymour Fentolin.
The two extremes in décolleté, / Of ballroom and of bathing beach, / Here meet in a bewildering way / And mingle all the charms of each.
I am no social butter-in, / I do not crave to meet her bunch, / But where does Mrs. Fentolin, / If one might venture -- take her lunch?
And might one ask that peerless dame, / Without appearing impolite, / Is _Seymour_ really her first name, / And has the printer spelt it right?