We are the little daughters of the modern world, And Time, her spouse. She has brought many children to our father’s house Before we came, when both our parents were content
With simple pleasures and with quiet homely ways. Modest and mild Were the fair daughters born to them in those fair days, Modest and mild.
_But Father Time grew restless and longed for a swifter pace_, _And our mother pushed out beside him at the cost of her tender grace_, _And life was no more living but just a headlong race_.
And we are wild— Yea, wild are we, the younger born of the World Into life’s vortex hurled. With the milk of our mother’s breast We drank her own unrest, And we learned our speech from Time Who scoffs at the things sublime. Time and the World have hurried so They could not help their younger born to grow; We only follow, follow where they go.
_They left their high ideals behind them as they ran_; _There was but one goal_, _pleasure_, _for Woman or for Man_, _And they robbed the nights of slumber to lengthen the days’ brief span_.
We are the demi-virgins of the modern day; All evil on the earth is known to us in thought, But yet we do it not. We bare our beauteous bodies to the gaze of men, We lure them, tempt them, lead them on, and then Lightly we turn away. By strong compelling passion we are never stirred; To us it is a word— A word much used when tragic tales are told; We are the younger born, yet we are very old In understanding, and our knowledge makes us bold. Boldly we look at life, Loving its stress and strife, And hating all conventions that may mean restraint, Yet shunning sin’s black taint.
We know wine’s taste; And the young-maiden bloom and sweetness of our lips Is often in eclipse Under the brown weed’s stain. Yet we are chaste; We have no large capacity for joy or pain, But an insatiable appetite for pleasure. We have no use for leisure And never learned the meaning of that word ‘repose.’ Life as it goes Must spell excitement for us, be the cost what may. Speeding along the way,
We ofttimes pause to do some generous little deed, And fill the cup of need; For we are kind at heart, Though with less heart than head, Unmoral, not immoral, when the worst is said; We are the product of the modern day.