Chapter I: Front Matter

TOO OLD FOR DOLLS

A Novel

by

ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI

Author of "Mansel Fellowes," "Catherine Doyle," "A Defence of Aristocracy," Etc.

G. P. Putnam's Sons New York and London The Knickerbocker Press 1921

Copyright, 1921 by G. P. Putnam's Sons

THE ENGLISH FLAPPER[1]

_From Nature's anvil hot she hails,
The forge still glowing on her cheek.
Untamed as yet, Life still prevails
Within her breast and fain would speak._

_But all the elfs upon the plain,
And in the arbour where she lolls,
Repeat the impudent refrain;
Too young for babes, too old for dolls._

_Her fingers deft have guessed the knack
Of making each advantage tell:
Her hat, her hair still down her back,
Her frocks and muff of mighty spell;_

_Her springtide "tailor-mades" quite plain:
In summer-time her parasols;
Each eloquent with the refrain:
Too young for babes, too old for dolls._

_Behold with what grave interest
She looks at all, or hind or squire;
In truth more keenly than the best
Matriculation marks require._

_She's told to learn from all she sees;
To watch the seasons, how they go,
And note the burgeoning of trees,
Or bulbs and pansies, how they grow._

_"Enough that they are fair!" she cries;
"Why should I learn how lilies blow?"
And, dropping botany, she sighs
For some new flounce or furbelow._

_The murmur of the woodland wild,
The sound of courting birds that sing,
Are sweeter music to this child
Than all piano practising._

_She reads of love time and again,
And writes sad lays and barcarolles,
All emphasising the refrain:
Too young for babes, too old for dolls._

_And, truth to tell, the world's a thing
Of wonder for a life that's new,
And trembling her passions sing
Their praise within her father's pew._

_Magnificats or credos sung,
Thus oft acquire a deeper note,
When they're intoned by voices young,
Or issue from a virgin's throat._

_For all the world's a wondrous thing,
And magic to the life that's new,
And heartily her voice-chords ring
Beside her father's in his pew._

_Who sees her clad in muslin white,
With eyes downcast and manner prim,
May well be minded by the sight,
Of angels pure or cherubim._

_Yet, oh, the secret lusts of life!
The thrills and throbs but half divined;
The future and the great word "Wife,"
Which ofttimes occupy her mind!_

_The wicked thoughts that come and go,
The dreams that leave her soul aghast,
And make her long to hold and know
The entertaining truth at last!_

_But still the elfs upon the plain,
And in the arbour where she lolls,
With merry gesture cry again:
Too young for babes, too old for dolls._

[Footnote 1: _First published in THE NEW AGE, December 4th, 1919._]

Too Old for Dolls