The Æsthete
IF you’re anxious for to shine in the high æsthetic line, as a man ofculture rare,You must get up all the germs of the transcendental terms, and plantthem everywhere.You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of yourcomplicated state of mind(The meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter of atranscendental kind).And every one will say,As you walk your mystic way,“If this young man expresses himself in terms too deepfor me,Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man mustbe!”
Be eloquent in praise of the very dull old days which have long sincepassed away,And convince ’em, if you can, that the reign of good QUEEN ANNE wasCulture’s palmiest day.Of course you will pooh-pooh whatever’s fresh and new, and declareit’s crude and mean,And that Art stopped short in the cultivated court of the EMPRESSJOSEPHINE.And every one will say,As you walk your mystic way,“If that’s not good enough for him which is good enough for me,Why, what a very cultivated kind of youth this kind of youth must be!”
Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite yourlanguid spleen,An attachment à la Plato for a bashful young potato, or anot-too-French French bean.Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in thehigh æsthetic band,If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your mediævalhand.And every one will say,As you walk your flowery way,“If he’s content with a vegetable love which wouldcertainly not suit me,Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man mustbe!”