The circle which the ladies of Brookfield were designing
     The woman follows the man, and music fits to verse,
     The sentimentalists are represented by them among the civilized
     The dismally-lighted city wore a look of Judgement terrible to see
     The sentimentalist goes on accumulating images
     The gallant cornet adored delicacy and a gilded refinement
     The philosopher (I would keep him back if I could)
     Their way was down a green lane and across long meadow-paths
     They, meantime, who had a contempt for sleep
     They had all noticed, seen, and observed
     To know that you are in England, breathing the same air with me
     True love excludes no natural duty
     Victims of the modern feminine ‘ideal’
     We have now looked into the hazy interior of their systems
     We are, in short, a civilized people
     What was this tale of Emilia, that grew more and more perplexing
     Wilfrid perceived that he had become an old man
     Women are wonderfully quick scholars under ridicule
     You have not to be told that I desire your happiness above all