The V-A-S-E

From the madding crowd they stand apart, The maidens four and the Work of Art; And none might tell from sight alone In which had Culture ripest grown, - The Gotham Million fair to see, The Philadelphia Pedigree, The Boston Mind of azure hue, Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo, - For all loved Art in a seemly way, With an earnest soul and a capital A. . . . . . . Long they worshipped; but no one broke The sacred stillness, until up spoke The Western one from the nameless place, Who blushing said: 'What a lovely vace!' Over three faces a sad smile flew, And they edged away from Kalamazoo. But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred To crush the stranger with one small word. Deftly hiding reproof in praise, She cries: ''Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!' But brief her unworthy triumph when The lofty one from the home of Penn, With the consciousness of two grandpapas, Exclaims: 'It is quite a lovely vahs!' And glances round with an anxious thrill, Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill. But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee, And gently murmurs: 'Oh pardon me! 'I did not catch your remark, because I was so entranced with that charming vaws!' Dies erit praegelida Sinistra quum Bostonia.