LordPeter List Literary Contest

Ode for When the Orchestra Stops

My feet ache, and a throbbing numbness pains
My head, as if of cocktails I had drunk,
Or emptied some large gin flask to the dregs
Some hours past, and table-side had sunk:
'Tis not through longing for my little cot
But yearning for a foot bath and an ice bag too
That makes me stumble and my temples hot
And dries up conversation and the false smile too.

O for a draught of bromide! that hath been
Stirred by a kind soul full of sympathy,
Pillows and the sheets and covers clean
Upon a bed sweeter than Arcady.
To sleep, to dance no more!

-- Lady Susan

Parody of...

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