So let me have the rouge again, <br /> And comb my hair the curly way. <br />The poor young men, the dear young men <br /> They'll all be here by noon today. <br /> <br />And I shall wear the blue, I think- <br /> They beg to touch its rippled lace; <br />Or do they love me best in pink, <br /> So sweetly flattering the face? <br /> <br />And are you sure my eyes are bright, <br /> And is it true my cheek is clear? <br />Young what's-his-name stayed half the night; <br /> He vows to cut his throat, poor dear! <br /> <br />So bring my scarlet slippers, then, <br /> And fetch the powder-puff to me. <br />The dear young men, the poor young men- <br /> They think I'm only seventy!<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ninon-de-lenclos-on-her-last-birthday/
