Explore "The "Viduate Dame"" by Ambrose Bierce on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
'Tis the widow of Thomas Blythe, / And she goeth upon the spree, / And red are cheeks of the bystanders / For her acts are light and free.
In a seven-ounce costume / The widow of Thomas Blythe, / Y-perched high on the window ledge, / The difficult can-can tryeth.
Ten constables they essay / To bate the dame's halloing.
With the widow of Thomas Blythe / Their hands are overflowing,
And they cry: "Call the National Guard / To quell this parlous muss -- / For all of the widows of Thomas Blythe / Are upon the spree and us!"
O long shall the eerie tale be told / By that posse's surviving tithe; / And with tears bedewed he'll sing this rude / Ballàd of the widow of Thomas Blythe.